RedVenture 5: Mirage
by Redwall Survivor Contestants
Summary: A desert oasis has long been the promised land to Sagaru's woodlanders, but shipwrecked vermin have taken it. Nine beasts will play their part in deciding the fate of the oasis. Completed.
1. Where the Sun Never Dies

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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start of week one.

**Chapter 1. Where the Sun Never Dies **

_by Lady Tara Starblade (admin)_

To control the water was to control life itself. Captain Matukhana knew this. The corsair had had a spot of rotten luck; well, several spots, really. First the fox's ship had run aground in the barren southeastern coast, the reefs tearing the waterlogged timbers to ribbons. Cursing the fickle fates, Matukhana salvaged what was left of his crew and oarslaves and began the trek inland, toward the dark line in the horizon he figured were hills or cliffs of some kind.

The sun was unrelenting, and the already limited water supply rapidly dwindled over the next couple of days. Several of the oarslaves collapsed along the way, with dehydration added to their already malnourished physique. Matukhana left them where they fell. It would only mean a bigger water ration for the rest of them come nightfall.

And then, one night, Matukhana met Medjool.

The monitor lizard was an oaf, there was no doubt about that. However, he had been clever enough to try and capture one of his oarslaves while the crew slept. The scream had awoken him, though it had cut off abruptly when the lizard snapped the otter's neck and began to feast ravenously on her flesh. The crew quickly subdued Medjool, dragging him off the ruined carcass. The lizard told them he was starving and begged them to spare his life; Matukhana had no desire to let the revolting thing live until it had uttered six golden words:

"I know where there iz water!"

The lizard took Matukhana back to his den, a cave in the side of the cliffs, and proceeded to tell him of a great river that flowed to the north of there, cascading over the cliffs in a great waterfall and forming a pool of cold, clear water that fed all kinds of exotic vegetation. The vulpine hung on the lizard's every word; such a place would be fitting for his crew to settle in.

But, as Medjool went on to explain, there was just one catch. The place was currently inhabited by a bunch of woodlanders, and had been for as long as the lizard could remember.

"A trifle," Matukhana had said with a smirk.

The fox gathered up his crew that very night, and Medjool brought him to the oasis just as dawn's first light peeked over the horizon. He pointed out the guards and the corsairs made short work of them. The woodlanders had still been asleep when they stormed the little village, bursting into their huts and doling out death. The woodlanders rallied, but they were caught utterly by surprise and stood no chance. Matukhana remembered there had been a mouse foolish enough to attack him after he had dispatched another, older mouse, and in return he'd cut out one of her eyes. The mouse had then fled, screaming every kind of idle threat against the corsairs. The other survivors followed, and Matukhana had watched them go, leaning on his bloody scimitar and chuckling. The crew wondered if they should go chase after the woodlanders, but Matukhana assured them that the elements would soon take care of them.

And so the crew settled in, taking over the huts the woodlanders had so painstakingly built, fishing in their pool and drinking their water. Finally, Matukhana's luck had returned.

Or so he thought.

"Sagaru!"

"What is it?" the mousemaid sighed, wincing as she turned her head. A makeshift eyepatch had been fashioned from one of the sails of Matukhana's old ship. The grounded vessel had been the only thing big enough to hold them all when they had made their escape, and although it would never sail again, its fractured hull provided them with enough shade and most of its cabins were still intact.

"Miss Sagaru, Root's found water!"

The mouse leapt up and hurried out of the ship onto the sweltering beach, where she was met by her mole friend and the rest of the survivors, where they gathered around a cask of fresh water, drinking their fill.

"Root!" she said. "Is it true?"

"Aye, miz," said Root. He passed her a cupful and she gulped it down. "Thurr be an unnerwater spring in ee ol' villyun Medjool's cave."

"Curse him to Hellgates and back again," Sagaru snarled. "After all the kindness we showed that distrustful creature, giving him food even after he betrayed our trust the first time. I should've known he'd do it again. I don't know why Jurin ever..."

The mouse trailed off, the memory of their fallen leader still fresh in her mind.

"Well, Jurin is dead," said a hare. "I know our beloved leader only died scarcely three days ago, but I believe the situation calls for the election of a new leader. Naturally the leadership must pass to one of the Heirs."

Sagaru froze. Every one of them was now looking at her expectantly. The mousemaid chuckled nervously. "Look, I know I'm the next oldest Heir, but surely it can't be as simple as..."

"All in favor of ee new leader bein' Miz Sagaru, say oye!" Root raised his paw.

His motion was met with a loud chorus of "ayes." Root turned to her, grinning, "There ee 'ave it, miz. You'm were a shoe-in, even if ee 'adn't been oldest."

Sagaru's cheeks were flushed, but she smiled at them all. "Very well. Once we get our strength back, we're going to take back our land from that murdering fox."

"Er, but Root just found water," said a vole. "Do we really need to be that hasty when we have enough to survive on right here for now?"

Sagaru smirked. Already questioning her decisions, were they? This had to be some sort of record.

"This," she said, "is precisely why an Heir must lead. Milfoil's Oasis was promised to him by his ancestors. No longer welcome to live with them, they gave him this place as a consolation and allowed him to live out his days with the other outcasts that had chosen to follow him. The land was not only promised to him, but to his descendants."

Sagaru paced back and forth in the sand, twirling her short sword easily in one paw. "I have fought for the Oasis all my life. We all have worked too hard to defend that place from vermin and others that would steal it from us. As your new leader, I will not let us be reduced to crouching in a ruined ship, or slinking off into the desert to find a new home. Who knows how far we'd even make it? The Oasis is the only habitable place around for who knows how many miles. The vermin caught us off guard, that's all. I've seen how you all can fight when the fight is fair. So rest up, and tomorrow we fight."

Root scurried to her side, waving his club aloft. "Wurr with ee, Miz Sagaru!"


	2. And For His Encore

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 2. And For His Encore...**

_by Damask the Minstrel_

"At least wait 'til I'm decent!"

The knocking stopped at that comment, and a hushed conversation began on the other side of the door to Damask's room. The bird gave only the slightest of smirks before returning to the problem at hand: someone had found him out.

True, he was currently safe from _immediate_ harm. The problem was, one of the vermin was smart enough to give him an inside room -- no convenient window to escape from. There was no fresh air, and the light seemed dimmer. The lock didn't offer much confidence, as it currently consisted of a rusted nail jammed into the keyhole.

The meeting of the minds outside had come to a rather more hasty conclusion than Damask had hoped for, as evidenced by their reply, "Scringenose 'ere said you's can't be indeesunt. You's a bird!"

"Have you ever seen a bird's unmentionables?" Damask replied, before adding, "And I can _too_ be indecent."

He followed that with a string of curses, most of which he had just picked up downstairs. The bird backed up against a wall and shivered. There had been a nice, high ceiling downstairs. Not like this room with its four walls leering at him, seeming to cave in. They were swallowing the light from the lone candle on the nightstand. Damask felt his body contracting as he pressed his eyes shut, praying for open sky.

The sounds outside the door grew, presumably as they found friends with bigger vocabularies, which finally spurred Damask into action. _Escape, escape -- there has to be a way out..._

In desperation, he began tapping lightly along the wall, hoping the discussion outside was loud enough to block out his sounds. Finally, in a back corner of the room, he felt it -- a hollow space -- the wall between his room and the main chamber downstairs. _Throw dignity to the worms, I'm not gonna die in some rat-hole vermin hovel!_

With a fury that belied his age, Damask began pecking and clawing at the rotten slats that made up the wall, just as he heard the first strike against the door. The wood was slow to give away, old and withered, but made of sturdier stuff than he had hoped. He had only made a few small holes when he heard the first sharp _Crack!_ His door was giving away.

He whirled around just in time, crouching low to cover his progress on the wall with his body. As the first few vermin advanced through the portal, Damask spread his wings wide, trying to put on the winningest smile in his arsenal, "Lads, I know there's been a mix-up here --"

"Quiet, you snaketongue!" The lead thug pointed a cudgel his way, shaking a length of rope in his other paw, "Now Skreeg here says you is a spy. I'm agreein' with 'im. Never known a bird you kin trust."

Damask kept his eyes on that rope, pupils bobbing as they followed its path in the air. A free association began in the robin's mind: _caught, noose, hanging, hog-tied, spit, open fire._ He gulped hard, stuttering, "N-n-now, no need to be hasty..."

"'Ear that, fellas? No need to be 'asty," the weasel in front mocked, bringing the cudgel down and attempting a trusting look. He raised his brows and gave a gap-toothed grin. His crew echoed this sentiment, obviously in on the joke.

"Oh, aye?"  
"No, can't have that."

Damask knew he shouldn't relax. He knew that something was up. He knew that the joke was very soon to be on him, but his body had been keyed up for so long, he felt his shoulders start to sag, his guard dropping.

"Guess we'll 'ave to slow cook 'im, then." The weasel waited two beats for the horror to show on Damask's face before he pounced forward, swinging the cudgel in a sideways arc, aiming for a wing.

_Hellgates!_ Damask cursed to himself, as he tried to feint to that side. He still absorbed the blow. No cracks, but he could feel the wind rushing out of him. He brought both wings over his torso, in a pale imitation of a block.

The weasel couldn't resist a target so easily presented and aimed a kick right at the X created by the wings.

Damask opened his wings and leaned back, squeezing his eyes shut as he absorbed the impact full-on on his stomach.

What Damask thought would happen was that he would be easy prey for the dispatching, trapped against the wall. The wall had something to say about that, however.

As Damask sailed backwards, through the hole created by his pecking and the sharp blow, he tried not to smile. _It actually worked!_

----

Outside. Fresh air. Freedom.

It was a narrow escape to be sure, but Damask was starting to get the feel for this business. As he flew through the top branches of the quickly-thinning wood, he noticed a few things. The shouts were no longer audible in his wake -- definitely an improvement in his opinion. The sharp pain of the blow from that weasel's boot hadn't lessened to a dull ache like the rest of his wounds had. In addition, it hurt with every beat of his wings. _A broken rib? That's just what my performance needs. An inter-chorus wheeze._

Worst of all, though, Damask could feel that dread creeping up. He got lucky this time, but would luck be with him again? Or worse, could he keep himself from being so reckless? _That rush! There was no performance like it! It was better than shows, fairs, or even concerts!_

He stopped at a high elm, taking in sweet, mind-clearing air. _No... I can't go there. Keep on surviving. Skim along the surface, not too high._

But that voice was there now, saying, _You tasted a true performance -- and did so well, too!_

He shook his head once, hard, trying to drown out that idea. Better to get his pay and be done with it.

----

"Miss Bellona?" The robin was sure he was at the right camp. He even double-checked the directions on the letter they had provided. But this was--

And then he caught the scent. Fear. Vermin. Blood. He shivered at too-recent memories -- when those stenches had surrounded him -- and took to the air again. If Martin's Shadow had been there, in that charnel house of a camp, then he wasn't liable to get his pay any time soon.

----

A good hundred meters south, by a riverbank, Damask caught sight of movement in the underbrush. While most of him screamed to keep flying, that small, reckless voice got its vote in first and loudest. He alighted on a branch within earshot, but out of armslength. Taking a deep breath -- which sent another sharp twinge through his side -- he began to sing. Not a song of woodlander tongue, but a song of the birds. Teakettle trills and dips more fluid than the deftest of dexterous flute-players. He cut himself short, listening for a reply.

"If that be you, sir Robin, your report's a little late. Come to camp."

Giving a short sigh of relief, Damask followed the voice. At least Miss Bellona had survived...

----

Camp was definitely putting it kindly. A bed of coals was in a hollow, nestled up against a small boulder, presumably to warm anybeast nearby or heat water. Though its pitiful sight offered little comfort -- more a reminder of the cold, unforgiving outside. The beasts that inhabited the camp were in a similar state. Sad, bedraggled --

_Children!_ Damask almost tripped over his feet as his beak whirled around to face a small hedgehog who was busy trying to remove an arrow that was doing its best to blend in with her quills. _They're using children in this war?_

His seasoned companion caught his look and stopped him short of the awning that their commander presumably stayed under. Her paw held his shoulder tight and her eyes became slits -- her voice as sharp as the blade at her side, "Make sure to watch your tongue inside, bird. The Captain is none too pleased with you at the moment."

Damask caught an undercurrent in that look as well. _Don't you dare judge us,_ civilian. And with that, he realized that the first camp's massacre -- as far as everybeast here was concerned -- was entirely his fault.

The normally loquacious robin held his tongue -- in a vice grip of beak, no less -- and only nodded in reply, following her into the thrown-together headquarters, doing his best to ignore the looks the camp dwellers shot him. Dead-eyed stares and hissed curses trailed in his wake -- the soldiers certainly recognized him, the self-advertised savior of their cause.

"'Ells an' windstorms lass, tis be yoor preeshus spoi?" The captain was, indeed, as furious as Bellona had let on. He had been whittling with a small knife when the pair arrived in the tent and the sight of the bird caused a considerable gouge in his work. Of course it meant that the corner he had been making was very, very _sharp_ now. As if to prove this point, he advanced on Damask, brandishing the piece of wood, "Ye' be useful as a chainless rudder! 'Alf ah me troops be feedin' t'crows, an' most ah t'rest be slaves 'r worse!"

Damask tried not to tremble, but the sight sent his knees buckling and he took a craven step back. Trying to ignore the sneer that followed his motion, he let spill a flood of excuses, "But I did as best I could! I snuck in on foot, got a head count, escaped from an _indoor_ room! You know how hard it is not to have a window to-"

"Enough ah ye babblin' nonsense! Those soldiers died 'cause ah yer incompetence!"

"I didn't--" Damask cut himself off, pausing to gather his thoughts, "Wait, when were you attacked?"

"A few hours 'ence. Ye can't tell time, either? What kind ah --"

"I just escaped." The silence was palpable. "I just now got away from the Bloated Stoat."

"Mayhap, bird, you'd best start talkin'."

And the whole tale came together in short order.

"So... the Bloated Stoat -- the inn I was to scout out -- is a barracks or outpost or something. About twoscore beasts are there at any given time, with supplies for much more." Damask motioned to the camp with a wing before continuing, "Meanwhile, you, err... _encountered_ the main body of the horde, presumably operating out of a number of the outposts."

Bellona shot him a frown at his summary and took a step to the edge of the awning, looking out to the motley assortment that was all that stood between this area and enemy control. "So, do we escape to fight another day? Or do we try to take their foothold?"


	3. Brave Tin Soldier

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 3. Brave Tin Soldier**

_by Bellona Littlebrush_

_"The old warriors don't want you to hurt any more."_

Sailpaw never had the chance to answer.

"Leftnenant, m'am!" Bell stepped back quickly under the awning to avoid the over-eager hare who nearly bowled her over. Fifteen good seasons on the lad by the size of him, but he needed to control that size better. Alabaster, his brother, had been more careful.

_Careful and dead, though._ The dormouse sighed as she watched the big mountain hare fall in her mind's eye, scratching and biting all the way to Dark Forest. Hopefully Gideon would last as long, or longer. Hares were perilous beasts and hard to come by.

"Aye, Giddy?" She leaned to the side to avoid a smack from his paw as he brought it up in salute. She hadn't bothered to teach the recruits about saluting, but they seemed to think it necessary. Too many tales of Tammo and the Long Patrol, no doubt.

"Report, m'am!" he shouted, then dropped his volume when Bell narrowed her eyes at him. "Er…s-sorry, m'am. Have t'hurry, though. Me an' Silvertail spotted a couple o' vermin headed this way. Prince Nashald's scouts if I've me guess, m'am. Looked mad as toads in boots an' no' but a marchin' song b'hind."

"Captain?" Bell asked sharply. Scouts could be a problem, especially now when they needed to rest and heal.

Sailpaw glowered at Damask. "Weel, there's a proper spy leadin' the enemy t'oor doorstep!"

"Captain, I'm like as to guess our friend has little to do with it," the dormouse offered sensibly. Sailpaw needed to get over himself immediately. They didn't have time for one of his temper-tantrums. "Nashald's had scouts following us since we escaped from the…main camp." She'd almost said 'massacre', but refrained. None of that mattered anymore. Not at all.

Sailpaw turned his glare on her as he stood and made his way to the edge of the awning. "Fine. Start moovin' ev'rybeastie t'the bushes. Hide 'em as best ye can. An' Bell, tha one," he jerked a claw over his shoulder at the minstrel, "is yoor problem, aye."

The burly squirrel stormed out, but to his credit he kept his voice down while directing Martin's Shadow to hide. Relieved that he had listened, Bell moved to start taking down the awning. It was only then that she noticed Gideon still stood at attention next to her. The wooden soldier would get himself burned following such ridiculous decorum. Still, small things did make them happier – more willing to fight.

Bell saluted back and offered her best imitation of a smile. "Dismissed. Alabaster'd be proud."

A grin lit up the young hare's face and he bounded off to help move the meager equipment and supplies they'd cobbled together while on the run the past five hours.

"Miss Bellona?" Damask began hesitantly, hopping forward. "Is there any way I can help?"

The dormouse quirked an eyebrow as she knelt and focused on untying the awning. "I think you've helped us enough, sir Robin." She saw him wince out of the corner of her eye. All right, he knew he had done something stupid, then. She could be kind. "You can't fight and you can't carry much. You're better for surveillance. Now move out of my way."

Ten minutes later, the makeshift camp appeared deserted. Bell watched from her vantage point in a maple tree as a rat, weasel, and fox came stumping in.

"Burnin' frog-spawn," the rat swore, kicking at the remains of a hastily discarded bread ration. "S'much fer a bleedin' fresh trail, Blacky, yew eejit! They been gone hours by the look o'em coals." It had paid to keep the fire almost non-existent if only for the added value of throwing Nashald's lackies off their tails.

"Tweren't me own fault," Blacky, the fox, sneered. "Woulda been 'ere ages ago if widdle miss priss 'adn't stubbed 'er pretty footclaws."

"Oi!" the weaselmaid accompanying them growled. "Yer the one who dropped the rock on me when yew were tryin' t'fish. Wot sorta fishin' uses rocks, anyway?!"

They continued to bicker and the dormouse breathed a sigh of relief. With any luck, they'd be off in the next few minutes after some false trail or another. The streambank they'd chosen as their camp was frequented enough by other forest-dwellers to have tracks aplenty leading every which way.

"If you don't mind me asking," Damask, perched on the bough above her head, began, "why aren't you killing those creatures? Surely you could take on three vermin? There are at least as many of your group that could fight."

"And how much battle experience do you have?" Bell returned quietly as she rolled her eyes. _Civilians._ They thought everything revolved around numbers. "Those're scouts. Attacking them is like waving a red flag in Nashald's face. We don't want to be found. Those vermin will walk by, none the wiser to our presence. Stealth can match any sword in battle if wielded prop-"

"Tulach Aaarrrrd!" Sailpaw's harsh battle cry resounded around the clearing as he sprung from the lower branches of a nearby oak and charged the scouts. For a moment, the vermin stared, then they scattered, fur bristling fearfully. They hadn't expected a fight. The cowards were just watchers.

"There are, of course, many different opinions," Bell gritted as she bounded to the edge of the limb and leapt off, landing neatly in front of the fleeing jill. She pulled out her dirk and sliced open the vermin's throat in one smooth motion. The weasel's muzzle wrinkled in a snarl as she grabbed for the rapier at her side, then she took notice of the gash. Surprise registered for a moment as her legs gave way and she fell, clutching at her slender neck. The dormouse moved on.

Sailpaw was dealing with the fox while Gideon faced off against the rat. "Gerraway!" the vermin cried as he swiped at the hare. Gideon blocked the vermin's cudgel with the haft of his axe and grinned broadly.

"Cannae d'tha, laddie!" The young woodlander chuckled. This was his second battle. How could he be so flippant already? "What woould the Cap'n say?"

Bell's jaws clenched together painfully tight she hurried forward. Flippancy plus inexperience plus cornered vermin _never_ ended well. Half her ear had been the price to learn that lesson. The dormouse dodged around behind the rat while Gideon distracted him with increasingly obnoxious taunts.

"Ooo! Tha how they teach ye t'fight, laddie?" the hare demanded. "Shoor an' t'tell Ah dinnae think much on yoor – argh!" Gideon nearly dropped his axe as the rat's cudgel crushed his paw.

"Aye! That's how they teach me t'fight, longears," the vermin growled, suddenly full of bravado. He swung again, taking the recruit's breath away as the cudgel connected with his side. "Don't got no trainin' fer takin' out babies, that's all. On'y givin' yew a chance t'think yer winnin'. Heheheh – egh!"

"Don't talk to them," Bell told the gasping Gideon as she withdrew her dirk from the rat's back. "They never say anything worth hearing."

She wiped the blood from her blade as she walked over to where Sailpaw was picking over the fox's corpse. A sad day, indeed, when woodlanders were sizing up vermin weapons, but anything with an edge could help at this point. The other members of Martin's Shadow cautiously approached from the bushes and trees. Now if only they would go back to hiding for a bit.

"Captain, sir." The dormouse could feel her ire simmering just below the surface as she addressed her incredibly stupid friend with cold formality. "That wasn't the best move, sir. Those scouts'll be missed, sir. Wouldn't it've made more sense to let them pass, sir? Because now we need to run, _sir_. And we'll have to make it to the Broad Stream and on before they'll let up, _sir_. That _is_ the territory Nashald's claiming now, _sir_. Should I-"

Sailpaw held up a paw, the tiniest grin creeping onto his face. "No' afront o' the dibbuns, Bell. Ye c'n lay int' me with the 'sir'in' an' the like later, aye? In the mean while, ye brought oop a fine point, we need t'be moovin' along. Oh, an' fine work with tha rat, Giddy." He inclined his head and smiled roguishly at the wounded youngster who bucked up at the praise. "Had a glance while this fox was givin' me a bit o' trouble an' ye looked like ye had him t'the end there. Shame the Leftenant stole the kill froom ye." He laughed again, but sobered when he noted the aggressive tilt of Bell's ears and the set of her jaw.

He might feel invigorated after an easy battle, but some creatures did not. Especially when they'd seen a perfectly foolish hare get beaten while trying to follow his captain's example.

Before Sailpaw could reassert his levity in the face of grim times, a flutter of wings and a worried trill intervened. "I'm afraid we're going to need to leave, Miss Bellona." Damask ruffled his feathers anxiously. "Now. I took to the skies when the battle began and sighted another scouting party just one clearing over. They seemed a bit perturbed when they heard all the…shouting." He looked everywhere except at Sailpaw.

"As I was saying, sir…" Bell let her tone soften as she remembered the young creatures surrounding them and looking to Sailpaw for leadership. "The Broad Stream?"

"O, aye! T'the Brooad Stream!" Sailpaw stood tall, claiming the fox's hatchet for his own. "Who knows, Bell, we might even find a beastie or two willin' t'fight fer oor cause along the way."

"Fates willing, sir."


	4. The Shaping of a Helpless Joy

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 4. The Shaping of a Helpless Joy**

_by Revel_

A harsh gale furrowed waves in the stream, littered the shore with stolen leaves. The sky was darkening, bringing promise of rain. All around, the trees cracked and howled dirges of fiddle-song as branches scraped one another and tortured wood bent against the grain.

Inside the vole's cave, this symphony was muted. The vermin crowded the walls of the main chamber, facing their leader. Bruscus reclined in the wicker chair, rocking gently, eyes closed. The stoat's tail flicked every so often.

"We'll bring th'chair with us," he said at length. "I like it."

The old rat with his stick, Sorefoot, delegated the task of transporting the chair to two younger vermin and followed Bruscus further into the homely cave.

"Now, about Revel," Sorefoot said. He waited for Bruscus's nod before continuing. "I think we should go after 'er."

"Eh," Bruscus said, waving a dismissive paw. "Bothersome."

"She took out all three voles 'erself, aye, an' shoved th'last inter th'oven! It's still in there."

Bruscus investigated the oven, snuffling and poking at its contents with his knife. Sorefoot tottered around the kitchen table and took a seat. The air felt heavy and damp, though the kitchen itself still carried the wonderful smell of roast meat.

"Smells like woodpigeon," Bruscus grunted. He pulled the stone tray out of the oven and set it on the table. Sorefoot grimaced and looked away.

"She'll come back. She's sweet for you. Gonna kill _us_, I bet."

"If she's gone, she's gone."

Sorefoot shook his head. "She's not right in th'head. Forgot your orders, forgot our plan, Bruscus. But like as not she's gonna remember us. An' she'll be back."

"We can take 'er," Bruscus said. He sawed off the remaining back leg and held it up to his nose. "One maid - what's ter be scared of?"

"She ain't no maid."

Bruscus shrugged and took a bite.

* * * * * *

Revel started awake at a crack. Her immediate thought was of thunder, but no rolling yawn followed. The wind was in a frenzy around her, buffeting acorns across the ground and cutting swathes through the canopies above. The only rain so far was that of leaves.

The stoat huddled closer to the oak, kicking at the loam beneath her for more room. A chill crept up her back as she curled herself towards the oak, folding her limbs over her stomach for protection if not warmth. She thought to slumber more, until the storm passed; this was as good a shelter as any.

Another crack sounded, and this time she knew it was a branch breaking away from the old oak. She glanced up, worried. If it fell, where would it come down? Close to the trunk, or far enough away that she would be safe? It was impossible to tell.

Somewhere in the wood, she heard a shriek of some hawk in distress. Revel grunted in satisfaction. She had no love for the predators of the air. But the frantic calls spoke of the storm's strength.

She made a decision.

Digging away at the loam further, her claws began to encounter harder dirt and rocks. She scratched and tore at the earth ceaselessly, shifting it away from beneath the giant roots. The wretched screeching of twig and bark somewhere above her spurred her on, until at last she had a hole she could squeeze into. Once inside, a few more pawfuls of dirt were shifted out to form a pitiful barricade against the rubble being flung into her face by the wind.

As if having waited for the stoat to finish this task, not one, but two branches crashed to the ground. Revel shut her eyes and bit back a cry of fright. A bark-stripped javelin pierced the ground just inches from her hidey-hole.

It felt hours later that the wind began to let up. Revel napped again meanwhile, waking only briefly to note that rain was beginning to patter against the grass and roots. There was little cover from the treetops now the wind had done its work to make life miserable, and an hour or two later her hole began to fill, sending her out to be washed in the weather.

She stretched and arched her back, flicking her tail and splaying claws. She smelled rot on the air, mud and death mixed together in a fine stew. And just a faint whiff of egg.

She was hungry.

Revel followed her nose, and her earlier suspicions were confirmed: the hawk's nest lay ravaged, two eggs broken, one cracked. The young, half-formed, were sullied by mud and insects. She took the third egg and made off with it tucked under one arm, and headed in the direction where the moss grew thickest on the trees, north. Away from Bruscus and his gang.

It stopped raining just before sunset.

"Bother," Revel said. She patted her stomach and thought back on the events of the morning. "One more try, mm? He smelled funny any'ow." The stoat's muzzle wrinkled in remembrance. Bruscus had not liked to wash often.

"We'll find another one. Don't worry. Don't worry..."

The woodland was damp from the storm, and the sky now darkened considerably. Her footpaws were weary, laden with mud between the claws and pads. Revel sniffed at her egg in disgust. It would do much better cooked, but she had no high opinions of her ability to find dry wood before the morrow.

Lifting the crack to her lips, she sucked the liquid inside, licking at any drops that tried to sneak around the edges of her mouth. A light bash against a tree opened the egg the rest of the way. She took the young horror and bit into it, making a face. But food was food, and she cracked the bones into mulch and swallowed even the last talon.

This did not satiate her very well. In another hour she would be panging for more, and foraging in the dark was not her idea of a good time. What she wanted... what she _needed_ was that vole.

If only she hadn't merely snacked! A good, dense meal, that was the trick, with a side of cheeses and juniper grog. The cravings ought to let her be then.

Revel poked around a little more in the gloaming, then settled in a small ditch beside a gorsebush. The clay was slimy from the rain, but warm, and out of sight from the usual forest paths. She slept soundly.

* * * * * *

Morning came, and went, and the afternoon ambled along behind it. The gentle autumn sun dried the rain and dew and turned the mud to stiff, crusty dirt once again. After a lucky snack of chestnuts, blackberries, and a dozing cricket, Revel was well on her way once again.

The forest was calming and peaceful, in that unsettling way after a good storm. Branches littered the bushy pathways, creating a tangled maze between trees. Birdsong drowned itself in its own white noise. Dollops of leaves clung together on the ground, slyly hiding puddles from view. More than once Revel startled herself by splashing into them, getting her muddy paws soaked so often they became unburdened. The stoat grinned at the clean air, and stomped delightfully through the larger puddles. A spring burbled up, and she drank her fill and dabbed it in her face until her nose felt it would drop off from the chill.

By mid-noon the trees began to thin out, giving way to countryside. Revel had never been north of the forest before, but she thought she recognized a few of the hillsides as being covered in crops.

"Oh, fancy," she said, and laughed in her luck. Was that corn on the horizon? She hoped so. Corn made a lovely stew.

Her face darkened then, thinking back to Bruscus and his gang. Sorefoot was persistent. Even if Bruscus did not agree to have her killed, Sorefoot would remember. He would spread rumours, and they would grow quickly among the gangs and clans. There was no going back now.

Her future, her safety, lay in the north. She wondered if, by leaving the forest, she had traveled to the fabled Mossflower. She hoped not. Southsward had always been kind to her needs.

Her joy at the sight of the fields now considerably less, the stoat made her way into the vale. The sun was pleasant on her back after yesterday's storm, and her energy felt boosted with each accidental bee she inhaled. Her speed increased from a trot, to a run, to a rolling frollick. Having crested a small hill, she now descended the other side most ungainly, giggling to herself all the while.

This cavorting did not please her stomach however, and she frowned at it as she lay at the bottom of the hill.

"Oi, stoppit. Now what? One thing after th'other with you, isn't it?"

Revel got to her paws slowly and started off again, this time keeping her pace steady. She felt mildly queasy, as though she might throw up - yet ravenous all the same. Food! Always the highlight of her day. But there seemed very little to eat around here. The bushes were sparse and mysterious, and the copses of trees looked bare.

Her spirits soared at the sight of a cottage not far off, tucked away between hills with its own fields spread around it. The closer she drew, the more details presented themselves: a brown shape puttering about in a garden, a puff of smoke from the chimney, farming tools lined up under the eaves, flowers in the windows. As she watched, a second brown shape came around from behind a hill and greeted the one in the garden, and they both went in. Revel's neckfur bristled as the smell of stew wafted her way.

She selected a rake from the wall and crept around the side of the cottage to the front door, which was open to let the breeze in.

"Oh!" she said. "'Edgehogs."

The pair seemed to pause, too shocked by her sudden appearance to react. Revel stared at the table and the bowls set out, considering something. Woodlanders generally didn't make very appetizing stew. They completely left out the meat. Stupid creatures.

Revel soon came to a solution that pleased her.


	5. Desertion

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 5. Desertion**

_by Deadtail_

Deadtail never volunteered for scouting duty, and nobeast in Bulgam's horde asked him to trek ahead. There were some scouts, of course, or at least those who noticed the signs that shrews were camping nearby. Compared to other armies, though, Bulgam's was an insular lot.

Which was why it was strange how much Deadtail had been hearing about the skirmishes in the forest. Half of it or more was lies, he assumed, a reasonable enough approximation under any circumstances. Young rats whispering at night, telling tales of how they'd root out the woodland brats up north. Or how some big army had been defeated well to the east. Harmless enough chatter for any horde, but it just seemed odd that so much of it was floating around.

The rumors made him complacent, reluctant to move even as the tone of the evening conversations subtly changed. Oh, he could leap away from trouble in a battle—his paws were tired, but not so feeble as to give way. But by and large, he was comfortable to take his chances under Bulgam rather than venture elsewhere. With that kind of talk, there would be plenty of dangerous beasts in the forest—beasts that would be quick to assume an unfamiliar old rat was on the wrong side.

But, while the specifics of the young beasts' talk rolled over him, their tenors grew louder. It had begun, perhaps, when Moffa had been named captain in Halfnose's place. To the new officer's credit, he'd managed to stay alive and in charge—in fact, he was particularly popular with his underlings. "Moffa's Minions", they called themselves, the bravest of the brave. And the most moronic of the morons.

Every battle, when Deadtail was busy staying out of the way, Moffa would march at the head of his own platoon. Of course, the shrews would overpower him before they could reach anyone else. The Minions charged in to rescue their captain, usually losing one or two of their number in the process, but Moffa would somehow emerge in one piece. Perhaps two; sometimes, he'd lose a patch of fur and gain a scar that looked far worse than it hurt. When he wrote it off, claiming it was nothing, he was actually telling the truth.

In better times, Deadtail would have seen the incidents as warning signs, particularly when Bulgam praised Moffa night after night. But the rumors kept him in place. _He_ had no desire to be a Minion, after all, and nobeast was forcing him to do so.

So the state of affairs would have continued, had it not been for Garnel. He had been at Moffa's side when they avenged Halfnose's death, but Bulgam saw no need to promote both of them. Garnel was the unofficial leader of a small group of rats, but grew resentful as Moffa gained fame throughout the horde.

In order to regain the fame they had so briefly shared, Garnel waited until the middle of a battle. The horde had come across an unfamiliar tribe of shrews, from farther upriver. From what Deadtail had gathered, they were seeking revenge for some death or another that had happened before he'd joined Bulgam. Compared to their southern counterparts, these shrews were more organized, and better fighters. They also had the Minions cut off from the rest of the horde.

"I'm comin' for you, matey!" Garnel grinned as he charged towards the opposite side of the battle. Those with him followed, and the entire right flank crumbled into chaos as the shrews poured forward.

Deadtail nervously looked around, trying to assess the situation. Garnel was as good as dead, but they outnumbered the shrews. And perhaps the Minions were better out of the way; if the shrews had been attacking them on purpose, then they were almost as foolish as Moffa himself. Or even more foolish; Moffa strove for his own glory, but the shrews believed he truly had some. With the young idiots distracting the enemies, the veterans had a strong chance.

On the other hand, there were never many beasts behind Deadtail when blood was being shed. They wouldn't notice if he took off, and by the time they finished, he'd be too far gone for them to find him.

But if the shrews somehow won...

Garnel had fallen, and the rats near the front lines were in disarray. Bulgam, his face possessed by fear, was near the back. Things had to be going poorly if he wasn't that far ahead of Deadtail himself. Why wasn't he doing anything?

"Push forward!" Deadtail called, his best imitation of a young rat not particularly convincing. "Connect with the ones up there, the shrews are busy on the left."

"Moffa will fight 'em off!" called a confident ferret in front of Deadtail.

With the stench of battle clouding his mind, and even long after it had subsided, Bulgam's mood changed erratically. "Aye, but we'll strike while they're busy," the weasel decided. "Forward!"

And forward they charged. Deadtail gripped his sword tightly, holding it close to himself until the very last instant. Then he struck, the blade slicing upward through an unfortunate shrew's chest. He yanked it out and proceeded on. The rat was relying on instinct as much as anything else; the skills he had learned through the seasons came automatically even when he was too tired to remember them.

The plan, too, worked. The few survivors of Garnel's gang were inspired by their comrades' rush to join them, inspired enough to renew their strength and defy the odds. They took more shrews with them than Deadtail had expected before they were ultimately overrun.

The shrews eventually took off, but it was a testament to their skill that even Moffa had no desire to chase them. He was bleeding heavily by then, and it was clear that this scar would plague him for some time. Solemnly, without their usual gusto, the horde made camp. The sun had gone down before the more vocal thoughts turned to replacing Garnel; Deadtail wondered whether taking so long had set a camp record.

Bulgam was clearly listening to his troops' discussion, but said nothing for some time. As the conversation reached a lull, he asked offhandedly, "Who was it that suggested we push forward?"

Knowing it was too dark for them to see him, Deadtail winced. It had been done out of desperation, in the hopes that a convincing victory would provide the high spirits needed for his absence to go unnoticed. But the shrews were still out there, somewhere to the north. Where could he go? Maybe nobeast had seen...

"It were that old rat, Deadhind or summat," called the ferret. "Weren't it?"

There were mumblings as one beast looked to another, trying to remember who it was. "Yar, Deadtail, it were," one of them finally decided, to general agreement.

"Deadtail, eh?" smiled Bulgam. "Aye, that it is. You've seen plenty in your days, mate, you know how to fight. I reckon you more than deserve to be an officer. What say you?"

"...Ah." The fight had taken its toll on his nerves, but he felt just as scared surrounded by his allies. "It's an honor, but..." Accept? Decline? What would make them forget him most quickly, after he was gone? "There are a lot of brave young fellers out there. You yerself," he nodded at the ferret, "You'd make a fine captain." Certainly in Moffa's mold.

"Do you really think so?" The ferret's eyes danced with sickening fervor. "Me?"

"Who do you think you are, makin' decisions over my head?" growled Bulgam. "I haven't given you any power yet."

"Oh, no sir!" Deadtail's rushed apology was genuine. "Beggin' yer pardon sir, I never presumed, it's only that there are some more deservin' than meself."

"You're a humble beast, Deadtail, a brave soul. Perhaps this has been too long in comin', but I'm to blame. Let's welcome Captain Deadtail to the ranks, eh?"

A half-hearted cheer went up from the gathered horde, many of whom clearly had more worthy candidates for promotion—such as themselves—on their minds. Deadtail smiled thinly. "Well, now that I'm the captain, I get to say that there are plenty of other deservin' beasts out there. And when I ever spit at the gates, one of you can have my job." _May that day be seasons in the making_, he silently asked whatever might be listening. "In the meantime, I suppose I'd better show you all that I'm cut out for it. Sir," he half-nodded, half-bowed at Bulgam, "do I have yer permission to scout out to the south? Maybe find a more peaceful campsite for the morrow?"

"Of course," Bulgam smiled broadly, "Captain."

So Deadtail trouped south. Making suggestions—in the heat of battle, no less—and volunteering to scout; it had been an unprecedented day for him. He'd rarely been that far south, either. Perhaps never as far as wherever he was going, though he had no idea of where.

But one thing was for certain. When it came to leaving incompetent hordes behind, nobeast had more experience than Deadtail.


	6. Woodlander's Code

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 6. Woodlander's Code**

_by Suellyn_

Crying wasn't helping anybeast. It wouldn't help get Baez back and it wasn't improving the gaunt reflection at which the hogwife was peering in the still pool. The puffy eyes only accentuated the hollowness of the cheeks. _'E'd be 'orrified ifin 'e came back and saw me like this._

Suellyn scooped up a little of the water in her paws and splashed it on her face, shaking her quills to remove the excess moisture. Her gaze returned to the pond as its surface settled. She expected to see some improvement on the reflection but instead she was startled by another face there just over her shoulder.

"Baez!" The hogwife spun around.

"No, I'm afraid it's only me." Her father in-law touched his headspikes politely with a paw in greeting. "I didn' mean t'frighten thee."

She couldn't completely hide her disappointment. "Just a liddle stardled is all."

"Well I . . ." he began. Father had aways been a little timid around her. "I brought thee a liddle somethin'. I know Mother's stew is not a favorite of thine." Su couldn't stand all the ingredients being mixed together like that so a beast couldn't tell one from another. "And I noticed that thy bread had found its way into the broth." The texture of soggy bread was not something the hogwife could swallow.

His offering was a piece of that same bread, but dry and with the crust cut off. It was the most appetizing thing she had seen all day, but Suellyn covered her face with her apron and turned her back on it. _Why must I be such a Dibbun about these things?_ She was always told a creature was supposed to grow out of being so finicky.

"I'll jus' leave it 'ere an' thee can eat it if thou wishes."

"Thank you," the hogwife whispered. She heard the shuffling of her father-in-law's spines as he stooped to leave her the bread and then started back toward the house.

He stopped before he had gone several paces and sighed. "I know that thee are only tryin' t'protect our feelin's when thee say thou aren't 'ungry."

Suellyn peeked out from behind her apron at him.

"We can't . . ." He pawed at his quills with nervous frustration. "Well, we cannot know what thou _dost_ like if thou aren't 'onest about what thou dost not.." He shook his head, rattling his quills. "My son knew some trick of gettin' thee t'eat but I must admit we 'ave no idea what it might 'ave been. I know thou misses 'im." The gruff voice softened, "I – I miss 'im, as well."

The speech brought tears to the daughter-in-law's eyes once again and she started to say something but the elder hog stopped her with a lifted paw.

"Mother and I would be awful sorry if somethin' ever 'appened t'thee. Prob'ly woulda adopted thee into the family even if Baez 'adn't married thee an' saved us'ns the trouble."

Suellyn didn't know how much longer she sat there at the edge of the little pool, pinching off little pieces of bread her claws, nibbling, and thinking. She only knew that it had started to get dark, supper would be on the table, and she had promised to eat some of it.

She walked back slowly, passing again the spot where she and Baez had liked to sit and talk. "Your folks are very good t'me," the hogwife told him. "I'll take care of them until you get back." With a nod and a smile she continued towards the cottage only to stop when it came into view. Something was wrong.

_Too quiet. And that smell . . ._ Nothing could have prepared the young hedgehog for the sight that awaited her when she cautiously cracked open the front door of the dwelling.

Father, who had been so lively only a few hours ago was laid out on the table, dead, or rather parts of him were. It looked as if he'd been partially butchered. The old hog's head had been bashed in. His once handsome, graying quills were now matted with rusty red. His legs were . . . gone, viciously hacked off and nowhere to be seen. And the blood. . . Oh the sickening, salty, metallic stench of it! It was everywhere.

Suellyn knew at once that she would never be able to eat in this kitchen again, much less on this table where Father . . . Oh, how could she even be thinking of such a thing at a time like this? With Father . . . and Mother . . .

"Mother, where are you?" Forcing her footpaws to carry her further into the room, the daughter-in-law called out again in a choked whisper, "Mother, what 'appened?" The awful truth was made apparent when she stumbled and landed snout to snout with the older female, who was sprawled lifeless on the floor.

Suellyn's first instinct was to scream and jump back, frightened of the cold, dead eyes. But this was the creature who had been more of a mother to her than her own.

"Who did this t'you?" She reached out with a trembling paw and closed the eyes.

Standing, the young hogwife began to look around for something with which to cover the bodies. There was clothing strewn everywhere but not a blanket or shawl. And on the bed . . .

"Seasons o' Spikes!" It was a stoat.

The creature stirred but did not wake when Suellyn cried out and the woodlander pressed a paw to her mouth to keep herself from making another sound. Was it possible that this was the vermin who had attacked and killed Mother and Father?

The hedgehog scanned around quickly for some kind of weapon and found a shovel close to paw. She lifted it and took a step closer to the bed.

Suellyn had never hit another creature in her life, had never expected to have the need. _What was it Mother always said? "Woodlanders are pledged to 'elp each other and never to 'arm a living creature."_ Still, she raised the makeshift weapon now with the full desire to kill the one who had killed her family.

Then something stopped her. The stoat stirred again, rubbed a paw over a gently rounded stomach.

The hogwife dropped the shovel. She thought of the child she and Baez had so longed for. "It wasn't you at all, was it? Those murderin' rogues left you behind b'cause you couldn' keep up. O my spikes, you poor dear."

The expectant mother woke with a start and stared at her would be attacker as if she was having some sort of strange dream.

"Don't you worry about a thing." Suellyn took a step backward in spite of her brave words. "You can jus' stay right there an' rest your paws. Poor thing, left all alone in your condition. I don't suppose your . . ." _Vermin don't refer t'them as 'usbands an' wives, do they?_ "Your – your mate wasn't one of those that . . ." She waved a paw in the direction of the two dead hedgehogs.

The stoat shook her head and wrinkled her muzzle. "Nah."

Suellyn sighed. "Good. I mean not that I thought you'd willin'ly connect yourself t'that sort. . ." She trailed off. _Two widows alone. No, not widows. Baez is out there somewhere and so is this other creature._

That was another thing Mother and Father had told her, _"There's always creatures worse off than thyself. Thee should always 'elp the unfortunate if it be in thy power to do so."_

"We'll go and find them, your mate and – and mine, if we can manage it."

Feeling better about having made that decision, the hogwife bent and picked up the shovel once again. "I'll have some sad business to carry out first, an' then we'll go."

Digging a grave was another thing Su had never done before, but she wanted to give her in-laws a proper burial. Seemed only fitting after all they'd done for her.

Thinking of them, she took a couple of folded sheets off a shelf and covered the bodies as she had originally intended. Tears blurred her vision when she looked back at the vermin mother. "I - I don't suppose you're 'ungry after seein' all . . . this, but if you need somethin' there - there's still stew in the pot. I'm not partial . . . t'stew m'self so you go ahead . . . an' 'ave all you like."


	7. Almost Easy

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 7. Almost Easy**

_by Keane_

"Scoundrel! How dare you corrupt our youth, openly marketing your vile wares?" The she-cat was of an advanced age, wrinkled and shrill; if it weren't for her gown, crafted of lavender silk, and her walking stick, elegantly carved of fine wood, Keane wouldn't have pegged her as one of the upper class.

The male cleared his throat and smiled politely at the female. "Care to buy portion, ma'am?"

That's what they were all after, anyway. Somebeasts just had an interesting way of asking for it.

The female, hunched over her walking stick but with an air that gave the impression of her back being perfectly straight, huffed. "Wicked beast! I most certainly will not. What's more, if you don't shut this entire operation down of your own free will, then I'll see to it that my son does so for you. The town Watch will certainly see things my way; your business is a blemish on this town!"

Keane leaned forward, his facade fraying. "Ma'am," he grit, "The Watch practically keeps me in business. Now, you may not approve of my little venture, but my customers certainly do." He bit his tongue to keep himself from going further. No need to offend anybeast more than necessary, after all.

She gave a sigh of long suffering. "Don't be ridiculous. Can you imagine the ruckus if the Watch refused to do the job? I think you have fewer friends than you imagine, you cad. And of course your customers approve of you; half of them don't know any better, and by the time they've figured out your insidious plot, it's too late. Now, I've tried reasoning with you, but you don't seem willing to see sense, so here's how things stand. If you haven't cleared out of town and disposed of your... stock... by tomorrow afternoon, then your wares will be confiscated and I'll see you in chains." She tapped his chest with her stick.

Keane forced himself to retract his claws. "I'll thank you to leave," he said carefully.

She turned. "Tomorrow afternoon!" she threw over her shoulder, and flounced off.

The wildcat scowled. "Hellgates."

"It's only for a few months, Mum. The fuss will die down soon enough." _It always does_. Keane sipped from his teacup, training his eyes away from the ceramic; goodness knew how long it had been since she'd last washed it.

His mother wrung her paws, her own tea sitting untouched. "But what will I do without you?" she worried.

Keane cleared his throat, swallowing his indignation over the fact that she didn't seem worried for _his_ welfare. "I've thought of that," he explained, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat and extracting the package he'd hidden there. "This should tide you over until I'm back. Make sure you hide it well."

Her paws, greedy, snatched it away from him. "You always look after me so well," she sighed. "I'll miss you, Keane, dearest." She smiled at him. "You know I always loved you best."

She was lying.

Her lie made her eyes bright, her smile warm. Keane knew that she almost believed herself. They were alike in that sense; they _had_ to believe their lies. Without them, they were nothing.

And when a lie was half truth, then it wasn't really a lie anymore, was it? That was what Keane figured, anyway; after all, wasn't it better to make her happy, in her own fashion, than to have to watch her suffer?

The cat shook his head quickly to clear his thoughts and took a quick sip of tea.

"Where do you think you'll go?" She changed the subject.

The male shrugged. "North," he returned vaguely. "There's bound to be somewhere I can wait things out."

She nodded. "Of course. You always do well, dear, no matter where you are."

Somehow, it was not a compliment. Keane blinked his eyes. "I'd better be off," he excused himself, setting aside the teacup distastefully. "My boat leaves tonight."

She didn't rise to walk him to the door. Keane didn't question her; he'd always known that Balm was her first love.

He had just one last errand before he left town for good, and that's what led him to the nearest tavern, The Rusty Hook. He'd have a chance to mingle with travelers there, and perhaps rid himself of a last few choice goods. He'd thrown most of his stock into the sea earlier; he could only carry so much with him without being questioned, and it would likely go bad before he could return. But surely he couldn't be expected to destroy _all_ of it? It would be a crime, after he'd invested so much time in creating the stuff.

A tavern was the best place to pick up new customers, and this particular joint attracted mostly seafarers – beasts that were here today, gone tomorrow, and few the wiser concerning their business affairs. Precisely the sort of beast Keane wanted to deal with, at present.

And besides, he needed a drink. Badly.

The cat slipped up to the counter, choosing his seat by the look of the neighboring occupants. "I'll have a pint of ale," he informed the bartender and flipped the rat a coin. The mug arrived promptly, and Keane let the dark brew wash over his tongue. He smiled, pleased, and twisted to face the beast on his left, a grizzled male ferret.

"What brings you to town?" he began conversationally. "Down on your luck?"

The ferret nodded without turning his head. "Aye." He took a drought from his mug and turned reluctantly to the cat. "And you?" It was clear he only asked because he thought it was expected of him.

Keane shrugged. "I'm leaving, actually. Things got a bit messy with my... business." He took another deep swig.

There was an awkward silence. "Oh?" the ferret cleared his throat. "Business messy often?"

"Rather," Keane admitted moodily, oblivious to the other beast's discomfort. "You think you're friends with all the right beasts, and then before you know it, they've all turned on you." He eyed his mug, surprised at how quickly the ale was affecting him. "Still," he added, dragging his gaze back to the ferret's, "They'll be happy enough to have me back in a few months." They always were. It was just a matter of timing, and Keane was a master.

Keane sighed and took another sip. "What's your name, then?" His eyes meandered across the ferret's face, tracing the numerous scars. The mustelid was clearly a fighter.

The ferret hesitated. "Rath," he answered at length.

The cat grinned. "I'm Keane." His smile broadened as he mentally sorted through the various concoctions held in his coat's inner pockets; he was fairly certain he had just the thing for a fighting beast - if the ferret was interested, of course. And he would be.

First time was free, after all!


	8. Whatcha Gonna Do, PL?

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 8. Watcha Gonna Do, PL?**

_by Venril_

Venril gave a wince of almost physical pain upon entering the Rusty Hook as his senses were assailed by a sudden burst of grungy sights, cacophonous sounds and pungent smells. It was a run down little joint of the type that most other vermin would be familiar with, but Venril had never been in a _real_ tavern before.

The single room that made up the ground floor was dominated by a wooden bar that was discolored and marred by years of customers carving their names into it or just gouging it with their claws, and the furniture had clearly seen better days, as well. What bothered the stoat most, however, was the sheer disorderliness of the place. Vermin of every species, as well as even a few woodlanders, lounged about drinking and carousing, singing bawdy songs and shouting across the room at each other and the rather fetching, if slightly unkempt, female vermin who were serving drinks.

The few beasts who weren't throwing their personal decibels into the din of the tavern were mostly sitting alone looking morose and consuming their drinks rather gloomily. The place smelled of cheap alcohol, unwashed fur and numerous other dubious things.

Equally unappealing to Venril was what he and his twenty five hordebeasts were here to do. This had all seemed so simple when Baron Proklyan had explained it to him…

_Venril had stood before Baron Proklyan for almost five seconds before he remembered that as a horde captain he was supposed to salute. "Venril, reporting for duty, sire! Uh, Captain Venril. You promoted me—"_

"I am not so old that I require your aid to remember who my officers are, Captain Venril." Baron Proklyan was a stoat like Venril, compact but muscular. He had been a renowned warrior in his youth, but was reaching the upper limits of his middle season. His fur was graying in numerous places, and perhaps there were a few extra pounds on his frame, but overall he had escaped from the pitfalls of easy living enough that he still looked every bit a warlord. "Especially when they are promoted from those who have long served me personally. You will, no doubt, be pleased to learn that I have found a satisfactory replacement clerk, so it seems likely your office will be an indefinite one."

Venril's heart sank as the older stoat stabbed a needle through his last hope of averting his fate. Literate beasts weren't common in Baron Proklyan's horde, and every day that the warlord had failed to find a sufficient replacement scribe had extended his hopes that the warlord would come to his senses. But he couldn't say that, of course, so instead he said, "Thank you very much, my lord. I'll be sure to live up to the trust you've—"

"Yes, I'm sure you will. Beasts who don't live up to my trust don't live very long around here." Venril's ears lowered with his hopes as Proklyan cut him off again.

"Now, Captain Venril, I believe I have found a suitable first assignment for you. My family has a longstanding treaty of friendship with Prince Nashald of the Whitestone Islands. He has recently invoked the treaty to request that I send a force of soldiers to assist him in putting down a woodlander uprising in some newly acquired territory of his. Therefore, I am ordering you to take your company to assist Prince Nashald. I have a standing arrangement with one Captain Matukhana, paying him a regular retainer in exchange for his services in transporting my forces and materials where I need them to be." Proklyan produced a sealed scroll and handed it to Venril. "Give him this. It should explain everything."

"Yes, sire, I will, sire." Venril was painfully aware of how much he sounded like the stereotype of whimiscally-appointed horde officers who were promoted for appeasing their commanders, but couldn't think of what else to say. At least he wasn't being ordered into combat immediately. Maybe he'd have time to do some training, some drilling—something to minimize the chance that he would take a spear to the chest the first time he was confronted by an enemy.

Of course, things hadn't been that easy. Matukhana did indeed accept Baron Proklyan's scroll, but instead of just letting Venril board the ship, he had just thrown another problem at the stoat captain, who was already exhausted from the two day hike to the port town. It seemed that the fox had lost both several crewbeasts and most of his oarslaves to a slave uprising before it had been put down. Now the fox needed to replenish both his crew and his galley, and expected Venril to help.

"It's easy, lad," the fox had said, putting a comradely paw around the stoat's shoulders. "You just go into one o' the taverns, buy everybeast a lil' drink to loosen 'em all up, and then you asks real nice-like if they want to join. An' if they say no, you buy them another drink. An' another an' another, and pretty soon either they all say yes or they keel over and you just drag them off. It's so easy a woodlander could do it." And then the fox had shooed Venril and his hordebeasts away after giving them some coins to buy drinks with and a few corsairs to show them around.

And that was how Venril the clerk had found himself standing in the middle of this chaotic mess of a tavern with twenty-five hordebeasts he barely knew but was supposed to command. "Hello!" Venril yelled, his thin voice barely carrying over the din of the tavern. "Captain Matukhana was looking for anybeasts who wants to join his crew. We can, uh, get some drinks if anybody wants—"

"'Ey lads, take a look at the new barmaid!" A drunk weasel staggered up to Venril and clapped a paw around his shoulders, dragging the bewildered stoat to his table. "'E'll bring us our drinks iffen we just sign up with 'is captain."

"Get your paws off me! I'm a captain in Baron Proklyan's horde, and if—"

"Ooh, the new barmaid's a captain, too!" Laughter rang out amongst the beasts at the table and its neighbors, but the rest of the tavern had mostly lost interest by this point. Venril's ears burned red as he tried desperately to escape from the weasel's inebriated grasp.

"LISTEN UP, EVERYBEAST!" Conversation in the tavern stopped as a ferret hordebeast, the same one who had identified Venril as a clerk and expressed his own desire for a promotion back when Venril had first met his company, jumped up on a table and belted out a shout that carried well over even the songs and arguments of the drinkers. "Captain Matukhana's in town. He's had a good haul, and he feels like spreading his luck around a bit."

The ferret flung a heavy bag of coins at the rat barkeep, who snatched it out of the air. "'Keep, that's for everybody, compliments of Captain Matukhana and Baron Proklyan."

A cheer went up and the rat immediately set to work fulfilling the renewed demand for liquor, and the ferret hopped off his table soapbox, walking over to Venril and the weasel. "Sorry mate, but we need our captain back."

Venril breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for your help, uhh…"

"Verand. And you're welcome. But I'm sure you had the whole situation completely under control. Building a close rapport with the locals and whatnot." Venril was not so clueless as to miss the slight smirk behind the ferret's deadpan assessment of his efforts, but he wasn't about to try to dress down a hordebeast who had just saved him from disaster.

"Yes. Well." Venril turned to his company, many of whom were struggling, or outright failing, to wipe the smirks off their faces. "Just go around and talk to everybeast. Buy them more drinks if they run out. The sooner we get a crew put together, the sooner we can get out of this nas—the sooner we can get on with our mission."

The hordebeasts didn't have to be told twice to go carouse, and pretty soon, Venril was alone. The stoat sighed, feeling rather foolish. That had been only a hairsbreadth away from an outright debacle. He decided to go look for someone to recruit on his own, hopefully someone who wasn't too rowdy. His eyes were quickly drawn to a burly ferret whose clothing was only partially up to the task of hiding what even Venril could tell was an impressive array of battlescars.

The ferret was seated next to a younger feline, who appeared to be trying to make some idle conversation, but both cat and mustelid seemed fairly intent on their drinks rather than each other, and neither looked particularly chipper. The cat was a novelty, if for no other reason than his species, but Venril could have sworn he had seen the ferret before. Better yet, the ferret was clearly far more athletic than most of the other beasts in the tavern. Maybe if he could recruit this one it would partially make up for him having been so unsuccessful earlier. The cat did not seem particularly muscular for his species, but even a fairly lightweight feline was nothing to scoff at either.

Walking over to the ferret, Venril plopped down on the opposite side from the cat, who was rummaging around in his pockets for something, and almost asked for a goblet of wine before remembering to order an ale instead. Getting a better glance at the ferret, it suddenly clicked where he had seen him before, and Venril knew that if he could get this beast to sign on, one way or the other, it would be as good as getting three or four others.

"Hello. Like I said, I'm Venril, and my beasts are going somewhere with Matukhana's crew, so if either of you need anything else, it's on him." Venril said, trying to sound comradely. The feline nodded in acknowledgment but did not seem hugely interested in this offer.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm not really from around here. I just stopped in to wait for a bit and see if I can get some new business going." The cat took another drink from his mug. "I'm Keane, by the way."

The ferret, if anything, seemed even less interested in what Venril had to say, and seemed fairly intent on his drink, but the stoat was not going to just let the other mustelid ignore him, especially now that he was starting to remember why he looked familiar.

"Hey, I know you! I've been to gladiator ring with Baron Proklyan a few times. I saw you fight. You're…you're the Whirlwind!" The awe in Venril's voice was more genuine than feigned at this point. "Let me pay for that. What are you doing out here? Are there matches being held here? You were all really, really good when I saw you…"

Suddenly Venril's mood was considerably lightened. He really had enjoyed sitting in the box with Baron Proklyan and watching the gladiator fights. He had never quite understood why Proklyan had invited him other than to take down bets and record payments and wins and losses, but it had been a rare treat to escape from daily routine and watch the scarred, fit gladiators fight in the ring. Maybe this press-ganging thing wasn't so tedious after all.


	9. Overture, Raise the Lights

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 9. Overture, Raise the Lights...**

_by Eliza Lacrimosa_

Inhale. _Beat._ Exhale. _Beat._ Repeat, _ad infinitum._

Such was the basic metronome of life, the rhythmic foundation on which all other activities were given form. Eliza isolated the process, forcing herself to crystallize the motions in her consciousness. Breathe in, breathe out. No thoughts, no feelings. Just one paw in front of the other.

Eliza longed to go home, back to her comfortable world of dark wood paneling and lacy curtains. Once she arrived, the pine marten would sweep through the halls and rush straight up to her bedroom. She would lock the door, drop the key, and throw herself into the depths of her bedsheets. Then, secure and in private, she would cry until the pillows floated away.

Three days, she had to spend in this horrid stinking cesspit of a town. And that was an estimate, not a guarantee. Ships came and went at intervals far too erratic to predict with any accuracy, the fellow at the harbor had explained.

Leaving her physician's care was proving slightly more problematic than she'd bargained for. No doubt Doctor Spectacles and his aides would already be out scouring the town for her. The fat slob's nap could only last so long, and the absence of a wealthy patient was sure to cause quite a stir.

Eliza couldn't pretend to care. She would find somewhere to stay. If they wanted her back in that starchy bed, they would have to tie her to it. She had taken her fill of forced bed rest and idle chatter, thank you.

The aides had seemed to take a rather perverse joy in recounting the damage. The facial scars were permanent, they'd smiled, and she had definitely lost a lot of her right ear. She should count herself _fortunate_, though. Scores of Lehman's guests had died in the collapse, but Eliza had somehow lived long enough for them to pull her out of the rubble.

She was _lucky_ to be alive, they had told her.

Eliza disagreed. This new existence was not life. It was a slow drowning - death by degrees. Every glance in the mirror, every wide eye turned to her hideousness, every male's rejection would chip away another infinitesimal piece of her soul, until finally there would be nothing left to take.

Eliza Lacrimosa, the socialite, heiress and dancer, had ceased to be; only the inconveniently breathing body of a pine marten kept Dark Forest from knowing it.

Idle meanderings took her to what passed as the town's main avenue of business. Eliza paused awhile, taking in the scene. Street merchants hollered lustily about their wares, while gossiping homebodies daintily passed them by. A group of young ones frolicked in the autumn sunshine, waving sticks about and shrieking joyfully. The ordinariness of what she saw repelled her. These pathetic bumpkins went about their daily lives with an almost spiteful serenity, as if studiously contrasting this hideous wraith in their midst.

Her life, everything she knew and cherished, had been dragged into a whirlwind of uncertainty. Eliza could recall only one time when she had felt so utterly helpless, with everything spinning away. This time, there was nothing to cling to.

_When the sea raiders came, that was when everything changed. Father hustled her and Mother into a safe spot back in the caves. Eliza buried her face into Mother's skirts, trying to shut out the echoing screams._

She drank in the earthy smell of those skirts, still caked with dirt from the fields. They were rough, scratchy things, stitched together from bits of old sacking. Mother's paws had been more suited to work with heavy farming implements than fiddly little things like needles, and the stitching always came out uneven. But in that moment, they were everything beautiful and safe in the world.

The fighting seemed to go on for ever and ever, and the screams grew louder and louder, and all that Eliza could do was force herself to breathe.

Breathe in, breathe out, and never cry. Because if you cried, the sea raiders would hear you, and they would find you and kill you, and you and Mother would be dead and it would be all your fault for being so cowardly...

She felt now as she had then, lost in the dark of that cave. Only, this time there were no skirts to cling to, no maternal presence to blot out the fears and whisper that everything would be fine in the end. There was no Father, coming to gather her up in his strong arms and tell her that there was nothing to be afraid of any more.

A hanging sign caught the pine marten's eye. Most of the paint had flaked away from the wood, but the faded image of an alcoholic beverage was still visible. _No,_ she thought, _there are no skirts here. But there_ is _wine._

Yes. She would consume a small amount of wine, which would provide some much-needed clarity of thought.

Eliza straightened her dress with a twinge of melancholy futility. The falling glass and stone had wreaked absolute havoc on the garment, reducing it to mere thread in spots. Lifting it from the physician's back cupboard hardly seemed worth the trouble, in retrospect.

As the marteness pushed open the tavern door, the dying strains of a bawdy sea shanty caused her to pause a moment. This was mad. Ladies of her standing did not patronize establishments like this.

Eliza glanced down the way. No better prospect presented itself, so she swallowed her trepidation and slipped begrudgingly inside.

_Ghastly._ The air smelled of fermentation and vomit, and a number of other noxious things Eliza feared to guess at. She pushed her way through the noisy drunkards, wading towards what she assumed to be the bar area.

There was only one available stool, between an inebriated dogfox and a dumpy-looking female stoat. With a grimace, Eliza mounted the rickety seat.

"I wanna drink," the plump stoatess informed the barkeep.

"What kind?"

The stoat thought about this for a second. "One in a cup."

"Right," sighed the old rodent. "Juniper grog it is. And for you, Ma'am?"

Eliza's glass of ruby liquid had scarce been set before her when an overzealous ferret jumped atop his table and bellowing something about paying for everybeast's drinks.

As the inebriated mob vied greedily for the barkeep's attention, an emaciated hogwife detached from the crowd and made a beeline for the stoat.

"Oh, thank the Fates I found you!" gasped the hedgehog. "I've been lookin' all over... Are you drinkin'?"

The stoatess peered at her full cup. "Not yet."

"But, but," stammered the hogwife, "You... you shouldn't be drinkin' in your condition..."

With a huff, the stoat snatched up her grog and disappeared into the crowd. The nagging hog followed her, whining fearfully.

"Buy you a drink?" asked a smooth voice.

Eliza looked up. The ferret who'd appointed himself Financier of Drunks gave her a roguish grin, exposing several yellow teeth. _Glech._ Not even if she _had_ been in the mood for flirtation.

"I already have one, _actually_."

A sensible beast would have taken her sarcasm for the blazing sign of disinterest that it was.

However, the harmonious marriage of "arrogant" and "slovenly" embodied here had apparently crowded out any room for "sensible."

"Perhaps 'your drink' is lonely and would like a companion?"

"No," Eliza snapped, "It would not."

Displaying some seriously misguided self-confidence, the ferret pressed harder. "Come now, There's no need for hostility. I'm only trying to be friendly."

"Then I suggest you befriend a different lady. Preferably one drunk enough to find pretentiousness and a petulant stench attractive."

The ferret's voice chilled instantly. "Young lady, with a face like that, you're _hardly_ in a position to be choosy."

He spun on his heel and melted back into the revelry.

Eliza drained her glass, the hideous scars burning with fury and embarrassment.

_Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch. _

She signaled weakly for a second glass. The lump rising in her throat needed to be drowned, quickly.

Much, much later, when the refill and his twin brother had been slowly and seethingly dispatched, Eliza began to feel marginally better.

As she courted the idea of a fourth dose of forgetfulness, it suddenly occurred to her that most of the noise had subsided.

The pine marten's dark eyes wavered slightly as she looked about the tavern. The drinking population seemed decidedly thinner than she recalled.

The ferret she'd dismissed earlier watched impassively as a pair of searats in green tunics staggered past, supporting between them a decidedly soused wildcat. The feline giggled insanely as the odd trio squeezed through the door.

A dark-furred rat scuttled up to the ferret, grinning crookedly. "That's the last of 'em, Verand."

"Good. How many did we get?"

"I'd estimate a good half-score of hearty crewbeasts, plus the runty hedgehog."

Verand nodded approvingly. "Let's go, then. We'll have to be well out of port by the time they come round."

A red flag unfurled itself in the alcohol-fogged synapses of Eliza's mind. Something sinister was going on here. In fact, now seemed rather a good time to leave. She slipped off of the stool. Her paws wobbled slightly.

Verand's peripheral vision caught the movement. "Hold on, lads." The smirking ferret's paw wavered a little as he pointed at Eliza.

"Bring that little hellion, too."

Said hellion had no intention of allowing herself to be brought _anywhere_. Eliza made a break for the door, but a blockade of green tunics swelled up in her path.

"Mates," the ferret opined mockingly, "This fine lady does not know how to properly address members of Baron Proklyan's service."

A greasy searat grinned wolfishly. "I reckon we'll 'ave ter teach 'er some _ettykit_, then." Several of his compatriots snickered.

"Indeed we shall," Verand replied, clapping a paw onto Eliza's shoulder.

_Crack!_

A ringing slap whipped the brigand's face to one side. There was a moment of consequential silence.

The ferret's head turned back around with ominous leisure. A predatory grin danced in his eyes.

"Oh, you're going to be quite sorry for that, young lady."

He was wrong. If Eliza was going to be made sorry anyways, it was not going to be for one slap. It was going to be for scratching those dancing eyes right out of his head. She swung at Verand's face, claws bared.

Without flinching, the ferret knocked her unpracticed paw aside. With the other paw, he gave her a hefty shove backwards. Pitched off balance, Eliza stumbled into some chairs. She hit the floor, hard.

Several gnarled paws instantly latched onto the pine marten, dragging her upright.

"Take this snotty wench to the ship. Perhaps a few days of starvation will make her realize the true value of respect."


	10. New Tactics

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 10. New Tactics**

_by Rath_

Rath blinked, and immediately regretted the action, wincing as sunlight assaulted his vision. "Hellgates." The ferret shielded his eyes with a paw. A groan and a growl fought to escape his throat and in the ensuing tussle ended up as a sort of coughing bleat.

_Too much…_ The malevolent sunlight speared him through the air and filled his head with a painful white void. For a moment, he made a game of counting the spots in his vision before giving up and attempting to remember what exactly had happened.

He'd drunk a good deal. That was clear. He even remembered what had done him in; rum warmed to comfort his paws. He felt as if he was floating in the stuff, buoyed up and down on gentle waves. The ferret barely remembered a cat, and some weasely little stoat who kept asking him questions. Wouldn't stop talking, that one. Rath squinched his eyes and ground his teeth at the memory.

Or was it a dream? The beasts were hazy and indistinct, and even though he could see them in his mind's eye, they were always maddeningly beyond his sight. Every time he tried to focus on a whisker or eye, they'd shift and warp like light glimmering off a glassy pool. He couldn't even recall just when he'd fallen asleep. One moment he was drinking and the next… here.

The ferret snorted. Of course it had been a dream. He knew for a fact that the rum he'd ordered would have been cold.

His mind made up, the ferret sat and blinked, his face turned away from the sun. And then he blinked again.

Crewbeasts ran here and there about the deck, seeming to ignore the warrior. Whipping around, he saw that his "bed" consisted of lengths of coiled up rope. A ship.

Blinking, Rath realized that he'd been clutching his axe haft in a death grip. He sighed; _Well, wherever I am, at least I've still got my axe._ Levering himself up with the weapon, he staggered a pace on the yawing deck as he got his footing. Rath turned his head from the murderous sun, took two steps and found himself face to face with a fox.

"Well, hello there!" The fox offered a winning grin. "Welcome to the crew!"

Rath blinked. "What?"

"I was wondering when you'd wake up. Name's Matukhana. I'm the Captain."

The ferret's brow knit, but before he could open his mouth to object, the captain continued. "Now that you're up and about, I want you to go and guard the brig."

Rath's hackles rose at the fox's casual tone and he tightened his grip on the axe. "'n what if'n I refuse?"

The Captain didn't seem at all fazed. "Well," he quipped, "I could always just have you thrown in." He shrugged. "Or slice you to pieces and toss you overboard for insubordination."

Rath opened his mouth, noticed the abundance of corsairs aboard the ship, and then closed it again. "Guardin' the brig'll be fine, Cap'n," the ferret murmured, glowering.

The dogfox grinned in such a bright and cheery manner that Rath fancied chopping his block off right then and there. "Splendid! It'll be an easy job. Only got one beast down there: cheeky little marteness with a loose tongue. A fine big brute like you shouldn't have a problem guarding her."

And with that, Captain Matukhana strode off, leaving a muddled ferret in his wake. Rath glared at the fox's retreating figure and tried to recall what he had ever done to deserve this.

Despite his confusion, Rath turned and trudged off, watching the bustling crewbeasts with a budding interest. Of all the positions to be stuck in, a corsair didn't seem to be all that bad. The sea air did wonders for his aching head and he let out a chirr when he peered overboard and saw nothing but a shimmering blanket of water spread out right to the horizon.

_Matukhana…_ The ferret gnawed on his lip as he traced the letters in his mind. _Ma-too-ka-na… hellsteeth. Why does it sound so familiar? Feels like spreadin' 'is luck a bit—'who said that? Ferret. Worked for—_ He bit down so hard that he tasted blood. Fangs flecked with bits of crimson, the ferret snarled. _Stoat._

"Hullo there."

Rath half-turned to see the cat from the bar (Keane, was it?) pad toward him. "Water you looking at?" The cat chortled at his own play on words. Rath nodded, doing his level best not to cringe, and Keane stood beside him. "Nice to see a familiar face, at least."

"Bloody stoat," Rath rumbled. He could almost see Venril's simpering features warp and twist in the water and it only made his blood roil. "Should've known he wos up ter no good."

The ferret saw Keane shrug out of the corner of his eye. "Aye. But there's nothing we can do about that now."

"Aye." Rath sighed. The silence that followed was almost an entity of its own, joining the two beasts to gaze out over the sea.

"It isn't all that bad." Rath turned to Keane, who had an odd sort of not-smile across his face. "I mean," the cat went on, "at least we were made crew 'n not just tossed in with the slaves."

The ferret nodded in response. "Right. Speakin' o' which," he murmured, hefting his axe over one shoulder. "I've got work." Rath offered a terse nod, and blinked at the paw thrust his way.

"If we're stuck here," Keane said, whiskers twitching, "we might as well look out for one another, aye?"

The ferret hesitated, but finally relented and offered his own paw. "Fine." With that, Rath turned and strode off.

Only a few paces away, a pressing thought caused the warrior to stop in his tracks. He blinked. _What in hellgates is a brig?_

--

After a good while of wandering, Rath blinked as he descended into the brig. This darkened room was an oasis against the chaos above decks, and for the moment, he was its master. Swelling with pride, the ferret strode into the center of the room.

"You, there! I demand you let me out at once!"

Rath started, and nearly tripped over the last stair. Regaining his balance, he edged closer to the crude cage where the marteness was kept. He turned his head and squinted his good eye to get a better picture in the dark. The marten sat with her arms crossed, glowered up at him, but Rath's attention was captured by the scars that were etched into the side of her face. Questions bloomed in his mind. Where did the scars come from? Her fur was too soft and her bones too delicate to be that of a fighter. Was she some sort of spy or assassin? Or perhaps—

The maid sniffed. "Can't you speak, or are you really just as stupid as you look?"

"I'm not lettin' you out," Rath said, bristling. "So you'd best stop goin' on about it."

The marteness' protests only increased. "Do you know who I am?" She sneered, standing up as tall as was possible in her current condition with her tail bushed out in indignation. "My father will know about this," she lectured, eyeing the ferret as if he was a particularly loathsome insect. "And I will personally ensure that he hunts you all down and has each and every one of you hanged." Her eyes hardened. "Especially you!"

Rath snorted at the prospect. He slumped down against a barrel, closed his eyes, and attempted to ignore her.

"I wonder," the prisoner went on, "just how many helpless beasts you've chopped to bits with that great, overgrown hatchet. Well, it won't be long before you pay with your worthless hide."

Rath's shoulders shook in what appeared to be an odd fit of barking laughter. The marten gripped the bars of the cage. "What are you laughing at?" She hissed.

"I ain't never even been in a raid," he said, turning his head to get a better look at the maid.

The marten's ears flicked upward. "What sort of rubbish is that?" she huffed. "I'd imagine a brute like you'd be first in line for the slaughter."

Rath shrugged. "I'm only crew 'cause I was dragged here from an inn this mornin'."

The ferret did glean some amount of satisfaction from the shocked expression that crossed the marteness' face. "Oh." She sat down again, looking quite a bit put out.

"Sorry I'm not as excitin' as ye hoped," Rath murmured. This time, the maid stayed silent, although her expression had darkened considerably.

Not that it was any of his business. The ferret lay back and closed his eye. At least now he'd be able to get a decent rest.


	11. Exeunt Omnes

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 11. Exeunt Omnes**

_by Damask_

_It was the dead of night, the wood was still,  
The shadows leaped with horrors dark -- unseen.  
And through the wood there pierced a scream so shrill  
Oh, 'twas the wickedest --_

The scream that woke Damask wasn't a fiction nor part of his dream. It came from the next clearing over, where the other sentry was stationed. _Father's Feathers!_ The robin blinked hard, shaking his head. _I fell asleep again!_

Still blinking away the phantasms of dreams, Damask dove from his perch, veering between branches and shying from shadows in the early morn. The brisk air cleared his senses, dispelling the monsters his sleep-addled senses had created. He alighted in an evergreen, above where his fellow sentry should have been.

His instincts screamed, _Get out! Fly away! If that sentry hasn't noticed you yet, then that was his death scream! The vermin are upon the group, now, and that means the contract's off. Everybeast for himself!_

It sounded so wonderful to Damask. He could feel his grip lightening on the branch, his knees bending as he prepared to launch himself...

_Is that really you, Damask?_ He paused, still crouched on the branch as that little voice from before came back. _The_ great _Damascinous? A perpetual failure? You've let down the group once already, planning on a second time? And without this job, how will you scrape together two copper? The crowds sure aren't coming like they used to..._

In fear and indecision the bird trembled, eyes scanning the underbrush as he hoped for the young woodlander to appear. After a full minute, where his legs began to burn from his position, Damask straightened ever so slightly and forced a low and shaky whistle. No reply came from below. The entire wood seemed still, except --

He spun to the left in time to see a scabrous snout pop over the edge of the branch he was on. As the sinuous vermin slid into view, the bard-turned-spy took a hop toward the end of the branch, feathers ruffling into a pale imitation of intimidation.

"If yer lookin' fer the wee 'ogmaid, birdie, I cin send yah ta' meet 'er. Jis take a liddle step this way." As the weasel spoke, he tested the branch with a paw, inching ever closer.

The movement under his claws snapped the bird into action. He took to wing, accompanied by a faint barrage of curses. He headed for the outcropping of rock that served as the group's camp. They had planned for an hour's respite from their retreat to the Broad Stream. Still, one beast was standing at the entrance. Damask he banked hard, glad that it was the one beast of this group he had decided that he could trust, "Miss Bellona!"

She hopped back to avoid the robin's haphazard landing, "What is it, bird?"

"The vermin are here! The other sentry..." he let his voice trail off, gesturing over his shoulder with a beak.

He caught a glimmer in the dormouse's eyes. An expression flitted across her face for only a moment. She was back to her sensible, stoic self within a heartbeat, however. She nodded once, then moved inside the natural shelter, shaking bodies and giving orders.

As Damask caught his breath outside, he dwelled on that image, stewing over its familiarity. _She feels responsible, too..._

The time for stewing was past, however, and with a shove, the bird took to the air again. An unearthly cry from behind forced his wings to beat harder. The vermin were gaining ground.

------------

As they ran, Damask had one duty: fly ahead and call out the terrain and fly back and call out the enemy's position. What those below didn't realize was that flight was expensive. The night was beginning to take its toll on Damask, and his forays to the fore and aft became shorter and shorter. The curses and stones flung by his pursuers were getting harder to dodge.

"Oi, ye daft feathadooster!"

Damask had begun to dread that voice. He swooped down, gritting his beak against the tongue lashing that always seemed to accompany conversations with Sailpaw. He began to hop from branch to branch above the jogging squirrel. "Yes, cap'n?"

"Ye want I shood take yer place, laddie? Ye cannae fly worth a --"

"Captain?" Bellona interrupted, coming up alongside the pair, "_Might_ I suggest we save the... debriefing... for after we've reached safety?"

Sailpaw gave a snort, but buttoned his lip, veering to one side to help a lagging shrew. Damask began to give a breathy thanks to the leftenant, when a yell from the flank burst forth, "Aaah! Gerroff, ye slack-jawed fleabag!"

Both heads snapped around to see the young hare from before, Giddy, tackled by one of the faster vermin, a weedy-looking rat. What he lacked in size, however, he made up for with ferocity. He brought to bear a short spear and he was bringing it around to--

_What are you doing?_ His instincts cried out, as Damask found himself hurtling back to the hare's aid. A mere ten paces away, the rat had missed his first lunge, and as he drew back again, Damask descended on him from a short, hard dive. The robin clung the the rat's ears, bringing his beak down repeatedly towards the vulnerable eyes, all the while flapping his wings, trying to cause as much of a distraction as possible. It seemed a lifetime, wildly pecking his foe while trying to cling as if his life -- or worse, _reputation_ depended on it.

It was only a few seconds later that the vermin went limp below him, however. Damask collapsed forward onto a surprised Captain.

"Weel, laddie. Mayhaps there's more to ye'n meets the eye."

------------

The remainder of the flight for the Broad Stream was like a night plagued with nightmares for Damask. He would almost break from his sleep-deprived, adrenaline-laced state for a minute's peace, then another vermin warcry would pierce the gloom. Or another member of Martin's Shadow would be pounced upon by the attackers. Only one other time were they able to rescue the beast. Three others, however, were simply dragged into the underbrush by leering grins, masks from beyond the Dark Forest. _I always used "the dead of night" in stories, but when you can actually_ see _what's about to get you--_

Each sound sent another shiver up the bird's spine, sending fresh waves of fear to his mind. And in a cruel irony, each time another beast fell, it fueled him further, giving him the strength to fly farther ahead.

A golden ribbon caught his eye to the left, beckoning him closer as the day finally began to break onto water. The robin gave an impulsive twitter of song, dropping back to the main group and calling out, "Captain, Broad Stream ahead! Only a good hundredpace further!"

"Gud, laddie! Find us a hole t'hide in!"

The bird gave a short nod and powered ahead, renewed with hope. He swept along the bank, eyes flicking across the shore. He knew it had to be deep enough to fit everyone, with a narrow entrance and -- _Perfect!_

"Captain!" Damask called, working his way back along the shore, "I found it!"

-------------

"I said, 'find a hole', laddie. I was no' serious, ye ken?" The squirrel said, grinning as he swung over the bank's overhang into the entrance of the disused otter holt -- a narrow, perfectly defensible entry that hung right over a tiny harbor in the stream. Sailpaw helped the rest of the party in, now down to a meager eight.

Damask fluttered into the entrance and gave a leery eye to the shelter. It was dark. It was deep. It was underground. He ruffled his feathers nervously, glancing back to the entrance and sweet, beckoning sunrise. "I suppose," the bird began, "I could take a rest outside. In a tree, you know..."

"Oh yes, and be some vermin's supper when they climb it?" The second-in-command moved between the robin and the entryway, her voice taking on a low, commanding tone. "You'll stay in here like everyone else and take your rest. That's an order, Damask."

Hearing her use his name shocked the bird enough that he wasn't able to think of a quick reply. Or any reply. That energy was starting to wear off, too. Being cramped in was causing his eyes to droop. Like when mother used to roost.

------------

_Giant worms... working their way through the soil to fill his rumbling belly._

The bird's eyes opened to a dark, blurry chamber. His neck ached from his position -- near the bottom of a pile of fur and stink and -- _There's that grinding sound again. Like a worm, only..._

Damask gave a high-pitched chirp and extracted himself from the mass of sleepers. His gaze swung around for one of the leaders of the snoozing rabble. At the entrance was that mad squirrel Captain. He looked about again, hoping for the second-in-command. The robin breathed a short sigh of relief upon her entrance from one of the living chambers. As she reclaimed a haversack from the legions of dust, he hopped up to her, "Someone's digging--"

"-- a tunnel. I know," she said, finishing his reply for him. "Nashald's lot only sent two beasts to the front entry this morning. After they fell, they decided to make their own way in."

"What are we going to do?"

"Well," the leftenant began, "there are a few boats in here that are in fairly good order. I'll get the others to outfitting and patching one. You and the Captain should go above and assess the situation. There was a scuffle a moment ago and the digging has..." She paused and listened, eyes turned to the ceiling, before continuing, "...stopped. Fates know what that means. I don't think we should stay a moment longer than necessary."

Damask hopped to the entrance, shaking the dirt of the holt's floor from his feathers. "All right, Miss Bellona."

"Tha's Leftenant t'ye!" Sailpaw's voice took on a hard edge. "Jist 'cause ye did a gud turn afore, dinnae be makin' ye a fine ole friend, birdie."

Damask gave a little nod, seething on the inside. _That arrogant, ungrateful..._

Before his imagination could come up with further pleasant descriptors, the squirrel was out of the entrance, climbing up the overhang above. Damask followed, making sure to fly out over the middle of the stream, out of paw's reach, before circling back. What met his eyes was an odd scene indeed. Sailpaw was menacing a rat with his sword, the point of which was bobbing less than an pawslength from the vermin's throat. The vermin, in turn, was pointing to a body at its feet with a spade, offering a few unsightly expressions to enrich his explanation.

The bird landed to: "Ye'd best have said yer prayers, scoombag."

"Look, ye' batty ol' treehopper -- I ain't yer vermin!"

"Gentlebeasts!" Mind, the yell didn't carry a lot of weight, and it certainly came off on the treble end of the spectrum. However, Damask had summoned every ounce of indignation he could to get their attention. "_Someone_ had better start explaining things."

The rat was quicker on the uptake, or at least not spitting mad like his adversary. "So I was walking along th' bank, right? Th' weasel here," the vermin pointed at the beast at his feet, "decides he's gonna gimme his job. Well, doesn't much matter if'n I refuse, 'cause he starts in with th' kickin' an' cursin' at me. Well, I've had a bad day already, so I don't feel much like helpin' out with his sandcastle. One thing led to another an'... An' then yer mighty warrior here--"

"Warrior, aye! Now, look here ye foul sack o' --"

"Captain!" The mere fact that the bird interrupted his tirade _again_ caught Sailpaw short. The already russet squirrel seemed to turn crimson about the ears, quivering with rage. The fear from the past day, coupled with irritation, fueled the bird as he began to lay into the pair. "Now gentleman, I can see that the pair of you are certainly busy comparing gutter slang, but let me interject for a moment. Captain, we are currently a good moment's away from death. If the group after us sent one digger, then there is bound to be a party to check on him, aye?"

"I think..."

"I know you do, Captain, I know. You're always thinking ahead, aren't you. Like during our escape, when you had us sighted dead on the Broad Stream even during nightfall. And you, mister Rat. I can see we've a case of mistaken identity, yes? You've no dirt about your paws and you look about as at home holding that shovel as a -- pardon the expression -- bird underground."

"Well, yer right there..."

"I know I am. Am I right, of course! Now, I realized that the two of you have your reputations to consider --" As the pair moved to interject, Damask held up his wings again. "Now, just a moment. See, you've got a uniform of sorts, Mr. Rat. And while I don't see a horde about that shares said uniform, I've got to wonder. Is this vermin all by himself a runaway? Mr..."

"Deadtail. Err..."

"Ah, I understand if it's embarrassing, Master Deadtail. Now, I see a chance to, shall we say, scratch each others' backs." _Though certainly not until after you've trimmed those claws back a ways_.

"Jist a minnit, laddie. He's a --"

"I know, Captain, he's a rat. But he did, in fact, just save our little hides, didn't he? I mean, what kind of noble _Officer_ would you be if you didn't pay back a debt, eh?"

"I'd never be indebted t' --"

"And, of course, you have your _honor_ to consider. Why, I've always said, 'That Sailpaw's the most honorable beast ever did fight for Mossflower,' so smite me if I haven't." The bird tried his hardest to keep his voice soft and wheedling -- sweet but not saccharine.

"Have ye? But I ken..."

"I know I put on a face or an act, but --"

The diplomatic masterclass was interrupted by a sharp whistle from stream below. A voice called out, "Sir! There are vermin moving up the beach toward us. I heartily suggest you join us down here!" As if to punctuate her warning, a thrown spear landed only a few paces from the trio.

Damask gave the two one last look. "Well, lads, if you want to continue your conversation, far be it from me to interrupt you. Continue with the stabbing and whatnot."

He took to the air, flying as high above the stream as he could easily muster -- and out of range of slings, in case the vermin had grown wiser. Two figures below him jumped over the edge of the bank and began to make their way towards a small longboat that barely held the ragged band -- the last of Martin's Shadow. Damask gave a little chuckle as a sodden Captain was pulled aboard, _So it may not be as exciting as attacking another beast, but my... I love working an audience._


	12. With a Sure and Hopeful Smile

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 12. With a Sure and Hopeful Smile**

_by Revel_

She missed the cottage. It had been a nice place, cozy and yet cool. The bed had been the single greatest thing Revel had ever found. She had been certain that, with a little dedication and practice, she could use that sewing kit to piece together something to wear that fit. Her tunic was getting far too tight these days.

But most of all what she missed about the cottage was that it _wasn't here_.

Revel hated the ship. She hated the way it pitched on the sea, she hated the smells from the bilges, she hated the leering, grabby crew, she hated the constricted passageways, and she hated the fact that her first experience of it all had been with a hangover. The stoat had been convinced she was dying of some illness, until a crewbeast explained things to her:

"A 'angover, see, is when ye drink so much grog that ye feel like ye've been 'ung over th'railin' an' beaten 'round yer head wit' yer own footpaws."

The stoat hung over the railing now, having just given back to the sea everything she had consumed the night prior.

That tavern... that was where it had all gone wrong. No. Earlier than that. The hedgehog. That weird dream that had never really ended - unless she was still asleep in the cottage.

Revel doubted this idea. The smells, sights and sounds were too real for a fevered dream. Besides, no blackberry bush had tried to disembowel her, and all the rats she had seen so far had normal-sized heads.

So the hedgehog had been real. Revel wondered at this. She remembered being too tired to kill it, too full to move. The scene had seemed so hazy at the time, all of it. She'd still been half asleep when she'd wandered out to the stream to get a drink - she remembered being bemused at the lack of bodies in the kitchen. And then the sickly hedgehog had appeared and said something, something that Revel couldn't quite catch, but which made perfect sense at the time.

There was a gap in her memory there. Straining against her current headache, Revel pieced together various thoughts about male stoats, lack of hunting weapons around the cottage, and... That was all, really.

Revel sighed as she teetered away from the railing. She couldn't remember why she'd left. It had seemed important, though. And now she was on a ship - she hadn't really even known such things _existed_ until today - and the land was long gone, along with the cottage and Bruscus and everything she'd ever known. And she still felt wretched.

She wiped her mouth with her headscarf, then tied it about behind her ears again with the soiled spot outward. The hedgehog had been right - it _was_ useful to have.

Wait, how come she could remember _that_?

"Feh. Get yer tail movin', wench!"

Revel found herself being shoved from behind, very nearly into an open hatchway. The miscreant to blame was another stoat. A male stoat, muscular and yet svelte, his nose scarred and his ears notched. Half his whiskers were missing, now a glistening pink patch of flesh on his muzzle. He wore naught but a patchwork kilt made of woodlander skins and a criss-crossing array of belts over his chest. His fur tufted out between them, bright white in the front, deep ginger in the back. He held in his paws a large blacksmith's hammer, currently being waved under Revel's nose.

"Well?" he said, and snarled. "Move!"

Revel took a step back, gasping in fright as he made to swing it at her head. The male stopped and grinned maliciously at her reaction. But Revel didn't notice. What she noticed, when she took in that breath... was his smell.

He smelled _fabulous_. Oh, it was full and musky, like deposits of old, wet tree sap pooling under a fallen log! It was like salted moss, and sun-dried limestone that had recently been wetted with blood. But there were other fragrances, foreign and fantastical; something of fish and lemon, something of rust and pitch, and fear - oh! Such wondrous, satisfying fear. It was the fear of the voles and the hedgehogs, and it ran deep through his fur. He was covered in it, whiskertip to black tuft, and she wanted it on herself, to rub her cheeks into him until the smell filled her and satiated the hunger welling up from her belly.

She closed her eyes and breathed again, gulping his scent in fast, one breath, two breaths, three breaths -

A brief whistling noise was cut short by a dull clang of steel on wood. Revel's eyes snapped open. A large fox held his sword up, blocking the male stoat's hammer just inches from the side of Revel's face.

"Nivard," the fox said, "if I ever see you strike out at a maiden again on this journey, you will spend it in the brig with twenty lashes each shift. Do I make myself clear?"

"She wos sniffin' all 'igh an' mighty at me!"

"_Do_ I make myself clear, Nivard?"

The stoat fumed, but lowered his weapon.

"Aye, Cap'n."

Matukhana nodded and sheathed his scimitar. His lips twitched into a half-smile.

"How's the face?"

Nivard clenched his teeth and spun about, stomping away and shouting obscenities at passing crewbeasts. The fox snorted at this and turned to Revel.

"You're part of the new crew, eh? I'm Captain Matukhana. You would do well to stay away from that one, miss... Miss, ahh?"

Revel looked at the Captain. She waited for him to finish. The fox harrumphed.

"What is your _name_, crewbeast?"

"No, it's Revel."

"Miss Revel, do not provoke my officers and do not keep me waiting. Have you any tasks to attend to?"

"Ummm..."

Matukhana scowled, glancing down at Revel's slightly rotund figure. "Either you do or you don't. Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Oh, be off with you before I have you put to the lash as well. Find _something_ useful to do, or stay out of my crew's way!"

Matukhana, at that moment, spotted some ferrets having a round of fisticuffs across the deck and stomped off. Revel contorted up her face and waggled her tongue at the fox's back.

"Nagger-nugger-fwuabwuah!" she hissed. What a prude!

She sighed. Nivard's scent had faded, leaving her once again lost, confused, and more than a bit ill. She could keep her balance, but every passing wave caused her stomach to roil. There was just no pleasing it. Even when she slept, she could feel it - soft little flutters that jostled her insides in the quiet moments of the night. If she held her breath in these moments and listened to the vibrations of her blood, it sounded almost like the echoes of a fly thrumming its wings.

She needed to stop snacking on crickets.

"Hoi, you - you busy?"

A rat was addressing her. He lowered his pointing paw to the barrel in front of him.

"Need help wit' this. Grab it 'round the other side. Takin' it t'the galley."

The barrel was full of autumn harvest, mostly apples, pears and turnips. Revel wrinkled her nose at them, but a passing glare from Matukhana as he surveyed the deck urged her to grab the barrel as best she could. The rat took the lead, heading down the open hatchway.

The darkness inside the ship's corridors took hold almost instantly over Revel's mind. These were no tunnels in a hillside, no hare's warren or mole's run. They were square and damp and lifeless, yet creaking with unnatural noises. Revel was reminded of the forest's groans during the storm, but that, she knew, had been the wind. What caused these noises now?

Without the gentle swaying of the horizon to assuage her mind, the ship's movements made her feel all the more ill. No sooner had they brought the barrel to the galley than Revel had snatched up an empty pot and threw up yet again. It was only after licking her lips clean that she noticed the room she was in was something of a kitchen, full of aromatic delights.

The rat left, leaving Revel to explore on her own. She slid her pot of sick into a corner and began poking her nose into the ones on the stoves. Porridge in one, boiling seagulls in another - ah, and in the oven itself was a large fish, of a kind Revel had never seen before.

"Gerrout of there!" a voice snapped. Revel peered up into the face of a fat, flour-faced ferret. Then she glanced down again, marvelling at his pegleg.

"That's the Captain's dinner! Yours," he said, ignoring her stares, "is in that pot over there."

She followed the direction of his paw. It seemed to point at the two pots on the stove at first, but the aim was off. Revel hesitantly pointed at the boiling seagulls, and the ferret shook his head and jabbed his paw again. Revel slid behind him and peered over his shoulder.

"Oh," she said. It was the pot she'd thrown into the corner.

"Get out!" the ferret barked.

A few ladle-whaps to the back of her head was, she felt, a little more inspiration than necessary for her to obey the cook's order. She just couldn't win in this place - why was everybeast being so... so _annoyed_ with her? What had she done wrong?

What had she done, period? She couldn't remember.

In the corridor outside the mess hall, Revel stopped. That smell... it was the fear. How had she not noticed it before? It lay thick in the air, an invisible smoke. She followed her nose.

It was down another set of steep stairs that she found the oardeck. The stoat Nivard was closing a door, taking a small lantern off a hook. He turned and paused, then grunted and brushed past her roughly - Revel shuddered in delight as their shoulders met. She sniffed after him, but the subtleties were gone, overpowered by the stench of fear.

She pushed open the door, and a wave of it blasted over her. It took all her self-control not to retch again at the sickly sweetness of it.

And there, rows upon rows of them, were woodlanders. Some thin and gaunt, others healthier, but sad and confused. All of them were chained, and all of them had long sticks in front of them, which they pushed and pulled in random unison. Revel thought she recognised the hedgehog, but it had its eyes closed, sobbing quietly and unaware of her. The stoat stared, amazed at the sheer variety. There were otters and a few hares, mice and moles, a squirrel glaring at her with teeth bared, even a watervole! And they all _reeked_.

Revel shut the door and cried. Her tears didn't stop, but it didn't take long for her sobs to turn into fits of laughter. She felt like the luckiest stoat in the world.

The day began to pass by in a blur after that. Revel, stomach emptied of food, no longer retched every ten minutes, and began to fight back the feeling of confinement and unease when inside the ship. She explored, took note of the crew (and Nivard's quarters), and helped with most tasks she was asked of - some of them she fumbled and was sent away from. She found out the cook's name was Kirby and that his son was a soldier in Proklyan's army. This had absolutely no meaning to her, however. She found that some stoat by the name of Venril was a Captain, but he was holed up in his quarters and wouldn't come out. Rath, a ferret, was guarding the brig, where a pine marten (a pine what?) was being held.

There was no mention, however hard she tried, of how she came to be on the ship. Some other beasts were to be found muttering about too much grog at the tavern, but they were as confounded as she was. Once - just once she'd thought she'd found somebeast who might have had an idea, a big fuzzy creature with orange fur and a long, wondrous tail, but the stench of his coat had driven her away, once again nauseous and muddle-minded. She woke to the curious face of a young weasel, who then laughed at her for having fainted for a few seconds; nobeast else had cared to notice the episode.

Lunchtime passed by without much fuss on part of the crew. Revel found her porridge tasteless, but only senior crewbeasts were allowed portions of seagull. Her stomach growled in fury at this, and she found her thoughts straying back to the slave deck.

Several times, it was more than just her thoughts. Almost as if in a trance, Revel paused to find her paw on the latch, the stench of fear swirling about her like so much upset dust. She would stare at the wooden door wistfully, then shake herself awake and march away, already having been told off once for daring to head down there when she had no business in the lower decks.

By the time dinner came around, the stoat found herself panicking. Every attempt to access the kitchen was met with Kirby's impressive set of cutlery, and the roiling of her stomach was no longer caused by the pitching of the ship. She felt as if she would collapse inward upon herself, if only just to fill the void. The portions were larger this time, with bits of fish and leftover gull being given out along with a bun and mug of watered-down grog that tasted worse than licking her own pawpads.

It was not enough.

The crew changed after sunset, the ship's bell signalling bed for some, and work for others, whom Revel had not seen that day. She was guided to a dingy room full of hammocks and snoring vermin, and given a spot near the bottom. She worried at first about her hammock, unused to sleeping off the ground, but she soon found its swinging to counter the ship's movement.

She did not sleep well. Restless, the stoat tossed and turned. The vixen directly above her was drooling, and the rocking movements made it difficult to know where the next drop would fall. Revel's whiskers twitched with each horrifying _plip_. Her belly fluttered.

It was during the night of her her second day on the ship that she could take it no more.

When the rest of her shift had put in for the night, Revel slipped out of her hammock. One of her bunkmates had a cutlass; she took it, smiled to herself at the familiarity of the sword in her paws, and slipped out into the corridor.


	13. Interlude: A Broad Stream

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 13. Interlude: The Broad Stream**

_by Damask, Deadtail, and Bellona_

The ragged troupe had been bobbing down the river for only a few minutes when the yells from the riverbank faded out of earshot. A collective sigh rose from the boat as beasts began to settle onto the floor of the vessel. Sailpaw made sure to place himself between the vermin and the rest of his crew and Bell remained alert, eyes fixed on the shore for any runners. As if sensing the tension beginning to return, Damask fluttered to a landing next to the only 'welcome' vermin in their midst.

The bird made a show of leaning down, well within paw's length, and striking up a conversation. "So, err, Deadtail was it?"

"Aye." The rat tried to hide the fact that he was impressed; by learning his name, the bird had done more in an afternoon than many of Deadtail's onetime fellows managed in a season.

"So, what _does_ bring you along this length of river?" the bird queried. Damask might have the manners to remember a name, but he did not want to be responsible for bringing a possible enemy into the fold.

"You shouldn't bother getting to know that one, Damask," Bell interjected. "He'll be leaving soon." _If I have my way,_ the cold glare she shot in the rat's direction added.

"Now, now -- any port in the storm, right?" Damask chided. _And another body between me and the arrows,_ he added silently, then flinched as a splash landed between his eyes. He shook it off and regarded the smirking dormouse with a soggy frown. "After all, the enemy of our enemy could be our friend." The robin turned to Deadtail to add, "Couldn't he?"

"Of course." Deadtail eked out a smile. "That said, I don't mean to be a burden--I'll be fine to go my own way as soon as we disembark."

"Good on you, then, rat." Bell settled back in the longboat, dividing her attention between the northern bank and the dubious pair beside her. Damask's acceptance and comfort with vermin had been an advantage when enlisting his services, she reflected, but now... The dormouse's eyes wandered to Sailpaw for a moment. She wondered what the Captain could be thinking to let the bird talk him into bringing the vermin aboard. 'Honor' got beasts killed. The squirrel ought to know that by now.

Another splash from the river sent Damask diving for cover from the rim of the longboat. He landed next to the dormouse and tried to whisper encouragement under his breath. "Please, Miss Bellona..." Within a moment, however, he was back to his outgoing self, turning his full attention to Deadtail. "So... you were just telling us what brought you to our rescue, yes?"

"Ah...that's right, I was." The vermin hastened to remember how much of the truth he had decided to tell. "I'm a scout, I am. Was lookin' ahead for my army, but I'd gotten turned 'round in the dark."

"Oh... another army." Damask's cheery tone faltered.

"Vermin are like weeds in a garden," Bell explained with a dry smile. She found herself drawn to the conversation at the mention of another possible threat. "You chop them down and ten more spring up in their place. As you're not part of Nashald's lot," she continued, addressing Deadtail, "who's your commander?" She ignored the annoyed expression on Damask's face at the sudden shift to an interrogation. The bird would have to learn that these sorts of things were necessary. It was better to know the next enemy Martin's Shadow would face.

Deadtail wasn't sure how far Moffa's reputation had spread. It would make little sense for such a "legendary" horde to send somebeast as incompetent as he was portraying himself to be out as a scout. Then again, Bulgam's army wasn't sensible enough. "Bulgam's his name."

"Bulgam." Bell nodded, storing the information away neatly before demanding in rapid succession, "Numbers? Location? Vulnerabilities?"

Damask watched the exchange with worried, furrowed brows -- it had all the stability of the river beneath. "Perhaps we should..." His voice trailed off when Bell directed a brief warning glance at him.

Deadtail didn't know what the robin's train of thought was, but he guessed it would be more appealing than the dormouse's questioning. "Should we what, Da...mask, yes?"

"Well, we don't have to interrogate you, is all." The robin's last few words were barely audible as he continued to avoid eye contact.

The dormouse sat up, ignoring her avian companion's discomfort as her ears came forward and she bared her teeth. "I asked you a question, rat. Answer me."

"Aye," Sailpaw added menacingly from further down the boat. "We'd all like t'hear wha' ye have t'say, laddie." He gestured to the rest of the woodlanders. "We all want t'know a wee bit moor about where oor fine savior came froom."

Deadtail vaguely waved his left paw. "North or west or summat. Upstream, not headin' this way."

"Soom scout _you_ are!" Sailpaw snorted. "Dinnae ken where yer army is. Get lost in the dark. Tell me, laddie, d'ye ken where ye are now?"

"I wouldn't ask such difficult questions, sir," Bell quipped. "Might be too much for somebeast who can't keep his lies straight."

Deadtail had to stop himself from bristling at Sailpaw calling him 'laddie', before looking up and squinting at the morning sun. "I'm on the South Stream, aren't I? Headin'...east."

"Broad Stream." Bell quirked an eyebrow. Most of the vermin she had known and killed over the seasons would have started waving a blade about by now. She had to admit that this one was remarkably calm -- not the average, brainless 'scout'.

"An' ye still havenae answered the rest o' the Leftenant's questions," Sailpaw growled. "Numbers an' vuln'rabilities, laddie. Jist 'cause they're no' headed toward us now, dinnae mean it'll always be tha' way."

Damask finally snorted as he unbuttoned his beak.

"Oh, will you two stop it?" He waved a wingtip under the Captain's nose to stifle the interruption that had already made it halfway up the squirrel's throat. "Deadtail's done us a good turn and we've repaid it by not leaving him to Nashald's horde. He's entitled to a spot of rest like the rest of us." The bird radiated smugness as he settled back. "Besides, it's not as if you can attack him in the boat with that great frogsticker of yours if he refuses."

"It's not the Captain he needs to worry about." Bell did not bother to place a paw on her dirk, but shot the bird a look instead. She knew that his sort of self-satisfaction should come when a creature fully knew another. Damask knew nothing about her.

The robin huffed into his feathers, "You, either. He's not shown any inkling for killing or looting, has he? No threats. No menacing or cursing." He let one eye -- gleaming devilishly -- rest on her, as he added, "And here I thought you were the sensible one."

"No inkling for killing?" Bell's mouth curled into a humorless smile. "You have a selective memory, sir Robin."

"Killing _us_. I'm not shivering in fear of you because _you've_ killed."

"Maybe you should." The dormouse felt her hackles rising. _What does he know?_ Bell snarled inwardly. _Nothing!_ Damask knew nothing about what it was like to spend every day wondering about the next beast you would have to kill before he killed you.

"That's rich!" The robin began shifting restlessly on his perch, eyes scanning the horizon for a quick escape. "What a change of tune. 'Oh Mister Damask, please help us save our children from destruction. And by the by, here's a nice threat for your trouble.'"

_Calm down._ Bell ordered herself before she could say anything more she would regret. The constant running without a proper rest was obviously telling on the dormouse's nerves if she was barking threats at an ally.

She realized that Damask was right. He had been nothing but helpful since his arrival. _But he doesn't understand._

Bell wondered how anybeast who hadn't lived through season after season of vermin attacks and raids and destruction could. Prince Nashald was a tyrant bent on taking over Eastern Mossflower. Martin's Shadow was all that stood in his way. And now they numbered eight. All the 'children', as Damask called them, were in Dark Forest or on the way there. They had the vermin to thank for that.

_And my orders,_ she thought with an inward wince.

"I'm sorry." The fight fled from her like a vermin before a sword. "You're right, sir Robin. You are an asset to Martin's Shadow. The rat is yours to do with as you please. Keep it out of my way." She returned her gaze to the shore, but kept her ears alert to further conversation. Bell decided she could tolerate one rat for a few hours, just so long as she knew where it was and she had her weapon close to paw.

_Oh, well said,_ that little reckless voice piped up in Damask's head as Bell turned away, _just drive off the only beast who's given two ticks of care about you within this whole lot. Or anywhere…_

"I'll gladly get out of your way, ma'am." Deadtail stood and stepped away from Bell, wishing the boat was larger.

"Sit still, laddie," Sailpaw called from the back in irritation. "This boat's no' big enough t'be hoppin' about on. Ye'll rock us int' the river."

"Of course." The rat sat down again, this time next to a young ottermaid, who eyed him apprehensively.

"Er...thanks fer savin' us back there, mate," the woodlander mumbled, trying to avoid the frown Sailpaw shot her for her display of appreciation. "Not many vermin as would do that."

"Yer welcome." The rat had not set out to save a pawful of woodland brats, but he found no reason to tell her that.

Damask let the tension ease from his shoulders, settling back in next to a shrew. _Good,_ the robin thought. This was good. Tense, true, but at least no one was yelling or bleeding or worse. "So... anyone know how far this stream goes?"

"T'the edge o'Mossflower." Emboldened by the rat's acceptance of gratitude, the otter continued, "Holt Dantor's down he..." she trailed off. "I mean, me holt _used_ t'have family down this way. Said the Broad Stream traveled on past th'known map, aye."

"Tha's where we're headed, then, Arendell, lassie." Sailpaw grinned enthusiastically. "Past the edge o' the map where we'll find a merry band o' beasties t'lend a paw t'Mar'in's Shadow, aye?"

"Aye!" The ragged cheer rose.

Damask gave a wide yawn, blinking with bleary eyes as a sudden fatigue hit him. "Sleep first, though, I think."

Deadtail nodded his agreement, then thought better of it. While the vermin had been craving sleep, he was suddenly wary of it. Outnumbered on a boat full of woodlanders who were going to sail beyond the map, confident they would find allies? It was less than ideal for him, but he realized that he couldn't face anything if he was too tired to think clearly. Perhaps sleep would do him some good, he reasoned.

"Rest well, then, sir Robin," Bell said at length. Despite her annoyance with the bird, she knew how crucial good relations with a spy could be, especially one so flighty. "We'll mind your...friend." She cast an eye on the weary rat.

"He could be your friend too, you know," the bird replied. He nestled down into his faded chest feathers and began to softly hum a lullaby to himself.

Deadtail looked up and caught Bell's gaze for a moment.

"Not likely," they both muttered under their breaths.


	14. All Their Lives Waiting in the Wings

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 14. All Their Lives Waiting in the Wings**

_by Eliza_

Well, things were just going from awful to terrible to the despondent slums of deplorable, weren't they?

_Pock. Pock._

Pock.

Eliza glared bitterly at the ceiling. Small drops of moisture were seeping through a gap in the joists. After a brief flash in the light, they dashed themselves to spray against the floor and were lapped up by the filthy timbers.

_Pock._ One fell, and instantly another welled up to replace it. _Pock._

She hated that noise. There was no pattern to it, no discernable rhythm. The drops fell whenever they pleased.

_Pock._

These stupid drops had more freedom than she did.

Eliza felt an eerie wavering sensation, churning in the pit of her stomach. The pine marten clutched tightly at the cage bars, trying to will the nausea away. She'd never get the hang of this vile pitching and heaving, not if she lived for a thousand seasons.

Her stomach's contents had long ago decided that seafaring life was not for them, and elected to strike out on their own. The wine had spearheaded the movement, ending up in a splattering scarlet film across the bottom of a dented bucket.

Eliza lay back on the stiff bunk, trying to placate her frothing innards. As her eyes roamed the ceiling, the pine marten idly wiped shreds of fungus from her claws. Tufts of the sickly white stuff sprouted everywhere in this horrid dank cell, and had begun to creep subtly across the floor. She had passed the time by scratching away as much of it as she could, but the spongy growth sprang back with disturbing alacrity. The guard would probably start growing patches of it on his bottom before long.

She looked over at the slumbering oaf. Lazy sluggard of a guard. Slug-guard, more like. _Duping this one into service must have been pathetically easy._

Her eyes traversed the lattice of scars etched into Slug-guard's carcass. The ferret had apparently never figured out that enemy blades were something that one could _avoid_. Fungus would probably be an improvement on that hideous hide.

There was a splintering crash atop the stairs, followed by shuffling and clomping noises.

"Garn! Hold 'er, mate!"

"Hold er yerself!" snapped a brash voice. "She's slipp'ry as an oiled eel!"

Paws began to emerge, falteringly descending the steps. Legs and torsos sprouted from the shadowy feet, finally resolving into an image of two corsairs wrestling with a vaguely familiar female stoat.

One of them, a weasel, fumbled briefly with a ring of keys before jamming one of them into lock. There was a click, and the rusty portal groaned outwards. His compatriot shoved the portly stoatess inside. The newcomer slipped forward, clutching Eliza's shoulder for balance. The stoat's paws felt warm and sticky.

The bars tolled a somber note as the weasel shoved the cage door back into place and secured the lock.

"What's the meaning of this?" Eliza demanded, extricating herself. "You can't just shove this..."

The pine marten looked down at the crimson smudge on her dress. She stifled a retch. "She's covered in blood!"

"Ain't 'er blood," snorted the other one, a runty dogfox. "She sliced an arm offa one'f the slaves. Poor sod was spewin' blood like a typhoon."

"What?" Eliza shrieked.

The fox ignored her, instead kicking a stubby paw at Slug-guard. "Oy, get on yer paws, ye lazy git! Gorra 'nother one fer you to guard."

Eliza smacked the bars, loudly. "Hey! You can't lock some bloodthirsty lunatic in here with me!"

"We can't?" asked the weasel, feigning a shameful countenance. "Gaw, it's a right shame we just did, then."

"Betcher the crazy stoat kills 'er afore sundown."

Greasy claws thoughtfully stroked a ragged chin. "I dunno, mate. Didjer see the way the marten latched onter Nivard's face when we dragged 'er on board? Bit 'alf his whiskers off. You gotta be some kind of vicious ter attack the first mate like that."

"Ey, ey," said the stunted fox, picking at the weasel's sleeve. "Mebbe the stoat'll carve out 'er tongue. Then both our problems'll be solved, eh?"

The weasel nodded sagely. "Lucky you, ferret, you'll git ter watch 'em get torn up."

"Fah! 'E ain't that lucky, 'e's gonna 'ave ter clean it up afterwards."

They chortled their way up the stairs, until a heavy slam cut off the sound.

"Did you actually bite the first mate's face?"

Eliza glared at Slug-guard. The ferret was leaning casually against a barrel, eyebrows raised in mild interest.

"Come here, and I'll show you."

The ferret rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "He prob'ly had it comin', that's all."

Eliza's new cellmate began sniffing nervously at the bars, whiskers twitching. Her claws scraped faintly against the rusty metal.

"I want out. Stinks in 'ere," she said quietly.

The stoat's eyes wandered down one side of the cage, past the ferret, and finally to Eliza. "Why'd they put me in 'ere for? Jus' tried to make a soup."

Eliza stared at the stoat's bloody paws. "They said you sliced off a slave's arm."

_By the Fates, I'm actually talking to this demented creature?_ This was a travesty.

"No," the stoat interrupted. "A vole's arm."

"Why?"

"For soup."

There was a very grim silence. _Pock._

The stoat stared at Eliza for an unnerving length of time, before finally asking, "What are you?"

How ignorant could this beast be? "I'm a pine marten."

"Revel," the stoat said patiently.

Eliza gripped her head in consternation. "_What_?"

"M'name's 'Revel.' Not 'Martin.'" After a second of thought, Revel added, "An' you don't look like a pine."

The accursed ferret snorted, eyes slit with amusement. Eliza shot him a withering stare. "You shut up!" The stoat's stupidity was making her head throb. There was a creaking sound behind her.

Revel had flopped down on the bunk, and was scratching her flabby stomach.

Eliza's blood boiled. How dare that slovenly beast steal her bed! Her mouth gaped in furious protest.

"Gah. 'M starvin'. They took away my soup, an' I can't stand that 'orrible porridge..."

Eliza's stomach burbled irritably. Porridge was a beastly, runny, _common_ sort of thing. But at this point she would have killed any ten of those searats for a bowl, and said so.

"I'd kill a rat," Revel said solemnly. After a moment of reflection, she added, "But not for porridge. It's th'ribs got th'best meat."

Eliza blinked, slowly. "Uh," she tried. Surely this stoat couldn't be saying...

"An' th'neck. Legs're good."

The pine marten peered into Revel's mirthless eyes. The stoat wasn't joking.

"But," she stammered, "You... you eat rats?"

This creature was absolutely revolting! Eliza watched the stoat's bloated stomach swell with breath. How many innocent beasts had been absorbed into that grotesque mound of flesh?

"What? No!" The stoat paused. "But... Hm. Rats... well, they're like big mice. Mice're dumb, like fish'n'birds. Never 'ad a mice, though. Never 'ad a rat afore either, but I imagine 's th'same, only biggerer. Might try one, if there's nothin' else."

"Mice are not like fish or birds!" Eliza protested, incredulous. "For one thing, they can talk."

Revel grimaced, picking at her snout with a dirt-encrusted claw. "An' what's th'point? Stupid creatures got nothin' to say. Bird warblin', 's all it is."

Eliza sighed pressed herself against the slick metal bars, wishing for all the world that she could melt through them and escape the clutches of this revolting stoat.

Home felt an awfully long way away.

_Pock._


	15. The Shade of Poison Trees

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 15. The Shade of Poison Trees**

_by Keane_

If there was anything Keane hated more than being wet, it was having the ground dance and sway beneath his footpaws. The fact that both were happening at once could only mean that the Fates had a personal vendetta against him.

The wildcat huddled, miserable in his hammock, blowing on his paws to warm them. He could hardly remember what it felt like to be dry, how it felt to have his fur lie smooth instead of fluffing out in all directions in an attempt to lose the constant dampness. Somehow, he'd managed to keep the treasures inside his coat dry, though, and he clung to that reassurance. As long as he had them, he would get through this.

But if they _should_ get wet, if the rank seawater should ruin them...

Keane didn't dare let his mind go there.

Eating had almost become a foreign task, as well; after it became clear that nothing was going to _stay_ eaten for more than a few minutes, Keane found it easier not to try, for the most part. He was hungry enough to gnaw his paws off – except that the thought of vomiting them up afterward was too horrid to think about.

The cat gave up trying to breathe warmth into his paws. He was cold down to his bones – if someone were to cut him open, he felt certain that they would find a skeleton of ice.

Strangely, he didn't want to kill Venril for any of this. He just wanted to get off the accursed boat as soon as possible and forget about everything.

Still, he supposed, not everything had gone bad; there was still Rath. Keane frowned thoughtfully. He'd seen the ferret only a few times since that first day on the ship, but the beast seemed friendly enough. The cat scratched his ear, trying to remember where Rath had been assigned – oh, yes. Guarding the brig. It had to get lonely down there, Keane reflected, in the belly of the terrible leaky prison. Surely, the ferret wouldn't mind a visit. After all, they had agreed to look out for each other.

Finding his way down to the brig wasn't difficult, though his stomach lurched when he passed the kitchen and breathed in the array of scents from within. His mouth watered and he swallowed, forcing himself to go on.

"Hello," he called out in greeting as he stumbled down the stairs to the brig, pupils widening as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting. "Rath?"

"Aye?" The ferret met the wildcat's gaze evenly from his perch on an overturned barrel.

"Did 'e bring dinner?" Keane's ears flicked as a female voice reached him. "I'm so 'ungry I could eat a 'ole vole!"

Keane stepped further into the light, eyes flicking about the brig as he noted that there were two females behind the bars – the stoat that had spoken, and a pine marten. The latter was almost pretty, but for the scars that marred her elegant features. Keane found himself staring, wondering how she'd acquired them, and then looked away when he realized she was glowering at him.

"I didn't bring food, I'm sorry," he apologized to the whole room. "I haven't been hungry much myself, see... Don't they feed you?"

"Porridge," groaned the stoatess. "An' not near enough."

"It's not fit to eat," the marten conceded, though she looked loathe to agree with her cellmate.

Keane cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'll bring something next time. How've you been getting on?" he addressed Rath.

The ferret shrugged. "Fine."

Keane hid a smile. The ferret was so terribly _stiff_! He wondered what it would take to make the beast open up, and had to fight to keep the corners of his mouth from quirking – because he probably had it with him.

"You haven't been seasick, have you?" he asked idly.

"Only the _entire_ time we've been on this floating bucket of filth." the marteness broke in.

Keane made a mental note to bring peppermint tea as well the next time he visited. Possibly with laudanum mixed in – the marten could do with some rest, he decided.

"Sorry t'hear that," he remarked.

"Makes you the first," she replied snidely, and turned away.

Was she always this crabby? Keane found his hackles rising and looked back to Rath, who wore a look of mild amusement on his scarred face.

"Must be interesting down here with these two," the cat observed. "Does it ever get dull?"

"Sometimes." Rath scowled, casting his eyes upward, the direction Venril was most likely to be in. "Not much anybeast can do about that."

Keane chuckled. "Oh, but..."

He bit his tongue.

Why was he so good at this?

They loved him. He was kind. He listened to their problems. He beckoned them in and said, "Come, talk to me. Be my friends. _Give me money and I will ruin your lives._"

"...I might have something."

It was still a living.

~

Restless, the cat's paws led him to the deck, where the fresh sea breeze did its best to lull his stomach into a state of relative calm. Bawdy tavern dirges floated up through the planks from the Mess; apparently there was some sort of celebration in process.

Keane knew he should be there – making friends with the crew, picking out prospective customers, making this whole disaster into something more than a nightmare, but just now, he preferred the solitude of the deck. The stars shimmered companionably down at him, and Keane felt that if he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he would breathe in their brilliance...

"Oi. Yew."

The cat jumped; he hadn't realized that he was standing only a few feet from the steersbeast. "Pardon?"

"C'mere, 've go' a job f'r yew." The rat's growl left no room for argument, and Keane moved closer.

"What is it, then?" he asked, resigned.

The rat beckoned him closer and gestured for him to take the tiller. "Take over f'r me f'r a bit. I'm goin' below."

"...Er." Keane stared helplessly at the rat. "I've got no... I've never done this."

"Nothin' much to it," the beast returned airily. "I'll be back in an hour 'r so. I'll bring yew back a drink, shall I?" He clapped the cat on the shoulder and scurried off toward the Mess without waiting for an answer.

Keane stared after the departed and then looked at his paws, gripped around the wooden tiller. He could do this, he decided, turning the tiller experimentally. And it was only an hour. An hour wasn't so long, when you thought about it...

He reminded himself of this countless times, but his eyes drifted shut of their own accord as he leaned sluggishly against the tiller.

The stars smiled down on him, singing a sweet lullaby as the cat fell prey to sleep.

~

He wasn't sure why he had woken up, except that his legs ached from the upright position he'd held against the tiller. The stars had been drowned out, as well, by a most unpleasant groaning coming from... the ship?

Befuddled, Keane unwrapped his paws from the tiller and yowled as pain shot through them. He was _stiff_.

"Y've gone an' crashed th'ship!" a grey blob screeched in his face. Keane blinked and rubbed his eyes, and the blob resolved into the steersbeast from before.

"Oh, you're back," he mumbled. "Am I finished?"

"I'd say so!" the rat spat. There was an ominous cracking through the ship, and drunk crewbeasts ran amok on the deck. "An' if we can't get off th'blasted thing b'fore she sinks, we'll all be finished!"

Keane frowned as the rat turned and ran, calling out some unintelligible order.

"What'd I do?" he asked, bewildered.

A passing crewbeast gave him a Look. "Hardly matters now," the beast pointed out, "But I'd say you had no bloody idea how to steer a ship. And if you want to live to see tomorrow, then you'd better get onto one of the dinghies."

"Oh." Keane blinked again. "Oh. _Oh._"

For a moment he stood frozen. Dinghy... yes, he had to get into one – he had to keep his coat as dry as possible. The cat dashed toward the row of small boats, untying one from its rack. Through his fervor, a frightened scream from below tore at his ears, and he slowed, thoughts turning to the brig. Would Rath know what was happening in time to escape?

The sound of the ship tearing apart ground at his senses. Keane swore and ran for the stairway that led to below.

Water rushed in through the widening cracks in the ship, and Keane shrugged out of his coat, folding it and hugging it to himself in a small bundle. The cat fought through the tide of crewbeasts surging for the upper decks, and his heart sank when he didn't see Rath's face among them.

Keane cursed again; he only hoped the ferret hadn't already tried the sample Keane had given him.

When at last he reached the brig, the water came up to his hips. Keane took stock quickly and breathed a sigh of relief; Rath was fighting to open the cage door and release the two females, both of which were clinging to the bars as if they thought this would somehow expedite the process.

"Do you need help?" he shouted over the roaring water.

Rath's head whipped around to identify the intruder. "What in 'gates happened?" he bellowed.

Keane hurried to the cage door, still clutching his coat and shivering hard. "No time! What's holding things up here? Can I help?"

The ferret shook his head. "They never gave me a key. Just stand back and let me finish with the hinges."

Keane stepped back and looked down, ears flattened. The water was up to his waist.

"Is that it?"

Keane looked up and found himself face to face with the marteness.

"You're just going to... to _stand_ there and hope that he succeeds?" Her words bit into him, sharper than any cold.

Keane's arms tightened around his precious bundle. "Looks like it."

The pine marten stared at him, and Keane could almost _see_ what her opinion of him must be. Fortunately, Rath gave a mighty heave and lifted the door off the hinges before she could open her mouth and confirm it for him.

The females tumbled out, and the cat grabbed the marten's arm, helping her through the water and up the stairs. The moment they were out of the flooding, she pulled away from him, sending him a spiteful glare. Keane let her be.

They regrouped on the main deck and Keane led them to the dinghies, putting his coat back on as they walked. Several had already been put to use, he noticed. He gestured for Rath to help, and they lowered one of the small boats overboard. The ferret clambered down first, using the rope ladder that hung over the edge of the ship, and Keane sent the females down after him; the cat went last, hopping lithely into the dinghy and rocking it.

For a moment, they all stared at each other, and then the stoat spoke for all of them.

"An' what now?"

Rath picked up one of the oars that rested in the bottom of the dinghy. "We row."

The others followed his example, each taking an oar. There was a space of silence as the other three rowed, and then Keane nodded to the females.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," he said.

"My name's Revel," the stoat said cheerfully. "An' all I can think about right now is food."

Keane refrained from gagging and looked to the marten.

"Eliza Lacrimosa, if you must know," she snapped.

Keane would have said 'Pleased to meet you' in other circumstances, but just now, he felt terribly honest.

"Hellgates," muttered Eliza, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen.

"...What?" Keane blinked.

The marten sent him a glare. "This dress is going to be _ruined_."

The stoat, Revel, studied her for a moment and then said calmly, "Don't worry. It'll match your face then."

Keane watched with interest to see what Eliza's reaction would be. Her response caused a raised brow; she _smiled_. The cat shrugged to himself. Took all kinds to make a world, he supposed. He dug his oar into the water, flicking his ears when he heard Revel humming a kit's song off-key. Keane found himself rowing in time to the tune, and he started when it cut off mid-verse with a resounding _THWOCK!_

The cat blinked as Revel crumpled into the bottom of the boat; his gaze turned to Eliza. The marten dipped her oar into the ocean and smiled innocently.

Keane decided it would be prudent to keep silent.

It took longer to reach the shore with only the three rowing – Eliza wasn't much help, in the first place – but Keane's relief at being back on firm ground was only greater for it. The cat helped pull the dinghy onto the sand, but he didn't stay to see if Revel was all right or if Eliza needed any assistance.

First things first. He checked all of the inner pockets of his coat, grimacing when he found that some of the lower ones had gotten wet. He would have to throw the contents out later.

Still, he wasn't entirely ruined; he was on land again and he was alive. He would get through this. Somehow.


	16. How do you know if you've never tried?

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 16. How do you know if you've never tried?**

_by Suellyn_

_"'Ow'd you know, Su? You've never 'ad the guts to try anythin'. Now, if you 'ad seen what your Mamma an' I saw on the ships you'd be grateful to 'ave such nice things."_

How many times had she been told that?

"Well now I've tried lots of things, Da." She railed back at the memory. "An' I'm quite sure that none of the experiences 'ave changed my opinions in the least."

Rowing was every bit as grueling as she had been led to believe. Surprisingly though it hadn't seemed much worse than digging the graves for Mother and Father. She had thought of them often while she pulled the oar back and forth in rhythm with her fellow slaves.

Suellyn had no way of knowing how long it was before her back began to ache and her paws began to blister. The passage of time could not be reckoned below decks in the dark. The smell never went away: unwashed bodies, and excrement, damp fur and cloth and wood. It was the musty stench of death. Still, the mind-numbing monotony was almost comforting compared to bringing up shovelful after shovelful of wet earth only to replace it over the bodies of those who had loved her.

"Don't worry. They have to feed us sometime," whispered her oarmate upon seeing the hogwife's tears.

Suellyn nodded. She knew her fellow slave meant well.

Yes, that's what she was now. She was a slave, like her parents had been before she was born. _Like Baez was if he wasn't already . . . _No, she couldn't think like that. She had to have hope.

All the slaves were offered, when it finally came time for their long awaited supper, was a stale chunk of hardtack. Su at least attempted to choke down some of the hard, dry biscuit. As she had always been told, beggars couldn't be choosers. But after feeling something squirm against her lip, yanking the biscuit back to see the first weevil worming its way out into the dim light of the oar deck, she passed the meager crust to the squirrelmaid beside her.

It wasn't as if she could have finished eating it after the incident anyway. _That poor vole._ Suellyn didn't see the beast who had done it, but she heard the scream. And oh, the blood! It was just like Father on the table back at the cabin. But she didn't cry this time. She couldn't. Maybe it was the dehydration or maybe she was just becoming desensitized to it. _Spikes!_ She hoped not.

Back to rowing. Back and forth. Back and forth. How many days had she been at this? Or had it been weeks? Seasons?

Then everything was confusion. There was that scraping sound, a crash, water swiftly rising, screaming. The slavemaster bolted out of the hold but some other beast stopped him on the stairs and sent him back down to unchain his charges.

When the shackles fell, there was no time for thought or fear, only everybeast running for their lives, up to the deck to light and air and safety. But there was no safety here either. Only the vermin crewbeasts were allowed a space in the few dingies available. The slaves had to fend for themselves.

Su didn't know how to swim. Like the rest of them she screamed and pleaded, "Take us with you! Don't leave us to die!" But nobeast listened. In the end she was knocked overboard by some frantic otter.

_You would think, knowing how to swim would make them more help in a situation like this,_ the hogwife thought angrily as the water closed over her headspikes. Flailing and grasping proved instrumental. Her paws closed around a piece of an oar floating by. Then all she could do was hold on and hope for the best.

~ ~ ~

And now she was alone, really and truly alone. Everybeast who she had ever cared for, the parents who abandoned her, the husband who was taken away, the in-laws who were murdered, and now an entire ship full of creatures including the stoat whom she had made it her mission to care for until the birth of her whelps; they were all gone.

All she could hear was the slap of the waves on the shore and . . . and somebeast calling out. Could some other beast have survived the crash and made it to shore? Suellyn pulled herself up to her footpaws and stumbled over the dunes. There over a low rise were not only one but dozens creatures attempting to regain their breath and their bearings.

The hogwife could have almost shouted for joy before she noticed that quite a few of her fellow slaves had been rounded up and were back in chains. Even here in seasons only knew what part of the world, the vermin couldn't put the old prejudices behind them.

There were quite a few of _them_ milling around as well. Suellyn immediately began scanning among them for Revel. Though she saw several others that she thought she might have recognized from that awful night at the pub she did not at first see the stoatess. Then near two other scarred mustelids she caught sight of the expecting mother lying on the sand.

Without a thought for her own safety, the protective hedgehog scurried across the beach. She dropped down beside Revel and swept a paw over the stoatmaid's brow.

"What've you done to 'er?" Suellyn glared up at the disfigured pair.

The male, a one-eyed ferret, seemed to find hedgehog's antics humorous. "Done? We got her out of the brig and up to the beach if that's what you mean."

"There was a shipwreck, in case you weren't aware," the female huffed. She was some sort of weasel, Su thought, though her tail was awfully bushy for a weasel. The, whatever-she-was, was not amused but with a sigh she added, "She hit her head and hasn't woken yet."

The hogwife ignored them after this and fussed over Revel. She dipped her apron into a bit of water that had collected in the sand and bathed the expectant mother's face.

"By the spikes, if anythin' happens to her or those kits, well, I'll . . ." Suellyn didn't know what she would do.

"Don' you worry, Miz Rev," the hogwife crooned by way of reassuring herself. "Your liddle'uns are gonna be just fine. You're strong an' well an' you'll carry 'em just fine." _Not like me. Not like . . ._ She had no more tears but her eyes stung. How could she morn a Dibbun who never was?

"Why isn't this one in line with the others?" A gruff voice from behind Su made her look up. It was a stoat. "Not that she's good for much. Thin as a rail, this one."

The hogwife bristled and straightened her back. "That's quite a thing for you to say, sir. Your lot would work any poor creature to death."

The stoat drew back his paw to slap her but stopped just short.

"Oi. Dreamed it was talkin' again." Revel sat up and rubbed at a large lump between her ears.

Su gave a relieved sigh. "Oh Miz Rev, you're awake."

"No, 'm still dreamin'." the stoatmaid began to sniff at her surroundings. "Funny dirt, isn't this?"

"No," the hogwife chuckled. The sound was foreign in her own ears. "You're awake an' I'm here now to help you get ready for those kits."

"Kits?" A look of confusion crossed the stoat's face before it came back to her. "Don't be silly, you stupid 'edgehog. I'm not 'avin' no kits!"

Suellyn started to protest but she was shoved back as Revel jumped up and concentrated her sniffing on the stoat.

The male took a startled step back. "Now don't you start that again, wench!"

The stoatmaid reached out and touched the side of his muzzle where several whiskers seemed to be missing. Nivard flinched, but held his ground. Then she turned unexpectedly on the weaselish female, "Was he the one wat you bit, Pine?"

_Pine?_

"My name is _not _'Pine'! It's Eliza. And yes I did bite that haughty, sneering toad."

_She's a pine marten,_ the hogwife realized, and then quickly stepped between the two mustelid females. "Come now, ladies. . ."

"I'd bite your face back, but there's nothin' left to chew off!"

"Why in Hellgates would you stick up for an arrogant brute like that?"

"'E's not an arrogant brute, 'e's 'andsome an' brave an' I like 'im!"

"Restrain those two!" The whisker-less stoat pushed the scarred ferret forward.

The ferret frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're not on your boat anymore, Nivard. I don't have to take orders from you."

"Then, you," Nivard grabbed the arm of a laughing wildcat behind him and pulled him forward.

"You couldn't pay me enough to get between those two when they're riled, mate," The cat grinned.

The stoat looked as if he was also wary of stepping in the middle of the fight. "Feh. Then take the 'edgepig o'er an' chain 'er up wid th'other slaves."

"I'm not leaving Miz Rev," Su spoke up.

"Aww let her be," the cat shrugged. "Doesn't look like she'll last long on the trip through the desert anyway."

"_Fine_," Nivard ground his teeth. "But we'll be marching soon, so be ready! Stragglers will be left be'ind."

They all watched the stoat leave and then the wildcat broke the silence.

"So Rath," He produces a bag from over his shoulder. "I was able to procure some _provisions_ for our little crew here."

Suellyn looked around and realized that the cat was addressing the ferret. So his name was Rath. She filled that away with the knowledge that the pine marten's name was Eliza.

The cat reached into the bag and began tossing out apples to each of them.

"'Scuse me, sir," the hogwife addressed him after making sure that the two females were not still at each other's throats. "Thank you for stickin' up for me back there."

"Yeah well," He looked a little uncomfortable. "What I said was true." He gave her an apple. "You really should, eat somethin'."

"Thank you." Su took it and looked at it, wondering if it was as wormy as the bread was on the ship. "Could you tell me your name please, sir?"

"It's Keane, and don't call me sir. Just try to keep up."

~ ~ ~

Keeping up was harder than Suellyn had ever thought possible. Oh she started out fine: staying right by Revel's side and continuously asking if the stoatmaid was well or if she needed any help. But then she got the distinct feeling that the expectant mother needed some space. So the hogwife dropped back a bit.

Then the wind picked up and the first sandstorm washed over them. The hedgehog's spines collected an unbelievable amount of the stuff. She tried to shake it off, but the sand added a great deal of weight to her already tired footpaws.

Her joints ached in the heat, her fur itched, and her mouth was so dry that her tongue felt swollen and sticky. Now she was experiencing a different sort of monotony, one of sand and sky and plodding along with one footpaw determinedly placed after the other. Soon she found that she had been left far behind and all there was to do was to keep going, even though that dark smudge on the horizon that somebeast had thought was a sheltering cliff, never got any closer.

It wasn't till after dark on the . . . (how many days had it been now?) that she finally caught up with the rest. It was really an accident really. She thought she had heard a scream but had chalked it up to the wind howling or only her imagination. Then she ran into something solid. It turned out to be a squrrelmaid.

There was a clink of chains. Su had found the slave line.

"Who's there?"

"It's me, Su." her voice was raw from disuse and dry as dust.

"Su the hedgehog? We thought you were dead."

She tried to swallow. "What's goin' on?"

"There was a lizard, a monitor I think. It killed an ottermaid."

Maybe the one who had pushed her overboard. The hogwife thought vaguely. _But then maybe the screamin' I had heard was real._ "Did they catch it?"

"Yeah, the captain, Matukhana, he questioned the beast. He said he was just hungry. But he said he knew where there was water, enough for all of us."

"Water?" The word sounded so beautiful. Suellyn smiled with cracked lips. "I've gotta tell Revel."


	17. When I Look Around it Makes Me Glad

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 17. When I Look Around it Makes Me Glad I'm Not You**

_by Venril_

Venril was not sure whether to be euphoric or disappointed. On the one paw, he had just gone into battle for the first time, and had emerged with both eyes, all his limbs, and nearly all of his precious bodily fluids still intact and in place. On the other paw, he had not exactly been the hero of the hour, with his performance consisting mostly of running around trying to avoid the places where the fighting was the thickest. He hadn't been completely useless, course. Even the young males in Baron Proklyan's realm who didn't go into the horde typically got some stave and sword fighting instruction, and in Venril's case it had been sufficient to allow him to avoid or parry several blows from a shovel-wielding mole and retaliate with a nonfatal but rather painful looking slice across the beast's chest. The mole had stumbled away in an attempted escape that ended when Verand had snatched a spear from the body of the otter he had just killed and flung it into the mole's side from a long distance in a display of projectile skill that made Venril decidedly jealous.

The stoat's only other remarkable act had been disarming an older female squirrel, but even Venril was not so desperate for a kill as to finish her off. All this was just enough for Venril to not feel like a total failure, but it really didn't make up for the fact that his hordebeasts had pretty much just rushed into the settlement in a disorganized mob because he had taken too long to figure out whether he wanted them to ring out into a perimeter and close in or else cluster into a wedge formation for a more directed assault and they had just run out of patience. That, and it seemed that Verand had upstaged him once again, killing off several of the woodlanders and seizing the largest hut in the settlement.

Now the battle was mostly over, the disorganized remnant of the woodlanders making a speedy retreat from the settlement. Venril hurried over to where Captain Matukhana leaned on his scimitar, looking every bit the confident combat leader.

"Captain Matukhana? Shouldn't we chase them? I mean, couldn't they go out somewhere, regroup and then attack us again? Or something?" The fact that Matukhana seemed utterly unconcerned made Venril start to feel a little bit foolish for saying anything. "I could go chase them down with my hordebeasts. If you want me to. Or not…."

Matukhana shook his head, not even bothering to look at Venril. "Sun and heat'll put paid to that lot. Don't worry your liddle head about it, stoat."

Venril knew Matukhana was a lot more experienced than he was, but this seemed a little cavalier to him. "But couldn't they—" Matukhana, clearly no longer even paying attention to the stoat, began to walk away in the middle of Venril speaking, and the stoat had to follow him to keep talking. "Baron Proklyan always said you should never leave an enemy alive if you can help it, they'll just come back at the worst time imaginable and attack you –" He stopped suddenly as Matukhana whirled around on him.

"I don't know where Lord Proklyan dug you up from, lad, but you got no more business being captain than I have bein' a butler. You go off and sit on your tail during the battle while that ferret o' yours splatters blood left an' right and looks like a big damn hero. I didn't start off on a ship barely out of kithood to get my orders questioned by some little sap whose probably just the son of somebeast important and clearly doesn't know a sword from a butter knife. Now go play soldier somewhere else."  
Venril suppressed a scowl as Matukhana walked over to start up a conversation with his firstmate about the village they had captured.

The stoat racked his brain for something useful to do. He could always fall back on finding some parchment and writing a detailed list of all the supplies they had captured, but that seemed more appropriate to his old job than his new one. Not to mentioned that Matukhana hardly seemed the type to care for supply manifests.

The stoat was still wandering around trying to think of something productive to do when he almost ran into Rath the Whirlwind. The ferret didn't seem to have any new scars from this most recent fight, and mostly seemed bored and gloomy. However, this mien turned much darker when he saw Venril. The stoat chucked nervously.

"Uh..hello Rath…did you, er, kill any woodlanders?' Venril realized this was probably not the most appropriate thing to say at the moment, but couldn't think of anything else.

"Venril, is it? My number one fan from the tavern…' The ferret scowled at him. "Remember the time I fought Gillvo the Boulder?"

The stoat nodded vigorously. "That was one of the first ones I watched! You hopped around a bit, waited for him to bring his club down and then you sliced off both of his paws at the wrist at once! There was blood everywhere, spraying all over, and Baron Proklyan got lots of coins because all his friends were betting on Gillvo. I thought you were going to win, though."

"Touching. Well. Keep that in mind and make yourself scarce, stoat, unless you want to wind up the same way as Gillvo." Rath's scowl deepened into a snarl. "I don't think anybeast would miss you if you had a little accident."

Still, at least the ferret had given him an idea. He could go around and see how all the new crew members were doing. His sense of purpose now restored, the stoat proceeded to go around and check on the status of both hordebeasts, crew members and slaves alike. Bereft of parchment, he tried as hard as he could to remember everybeast's name, species and status. Unfortunately, this nice little routine of his was rudely disrupted by the least likely beast possible, an emaciated looking female hedgehog whose appearance belied her intent to give Venril a piece of her mind.

"A captain, are you? Well, some captain you are, lettin' those great horrible brutes of yours drag a pregnant member of your own species onto a corsair ship! Didn' your parents raise you to 'ave any common decency?"

"What the seasons are you talking about?"

"Revel, one of the females your band of hordebeasts dragged onto the ship, is with stoat! Just'how you can treat the mother of new kits this way is just beyond me. Why, if you were a 'hog…." The hedgehog proceeded to lecture Venril further, tapping her footpaw against the ground and jabbing her claw in his face.

Venril snarled. "Okay, even I'm not pathetic enough to take this sorta thing off a woodlander slave. If your muzzle doesn't get closed and stay closed, we might just have to see how much skinnier you can get before you just keel over. What's wrong, does your mate eat all the food in the den?"  
That shut up the hedgehog pretty quickly, and Venril stalked off to ponder the fact that even woodlander slaves felt like they could get away with berating him.

It did not take Venril long to locate another pressgang victim, one who made his face crease into a not-particularly-intimidating scowl.  
She was a female pine marten in what clearly had once been rather nice clothing, her features marred by recently or partially healed cuts, gashes and other injuries. This was clearly a beast of the upper class, and Venril could not think of anybody he had seen recently who seemed more out of place being forced into a ship's crew.

"Err, hello, miss, I was just wondering if you were alright…" Venril winced as the female marten wheeled on him.

"No, as a matter of fact, I am not all right. I've been locked in a putrid cell for two days, without so much as a bread crust to eat; I've been repeatedly insulted and degraded by your insolent minions; and now I've been half-drowned and my dress is ruined!" The harsh imperiousness of her voice made Venril raise his paws in a placating gesture.

"I'm sorry, Miss…"

"Eliza Lacrimosa, 'captain'."

"Well, I didn't know that they were going to drag you onto the ship. I would have told them to—"

"Oh, that's just wonderful. What kind of commander has know idea what the beasts under his command are doing?"

Venril had had just about enough of being yelled at today. "Oh? Well maybe—" The stoat stopped himself in mid sentence before he could utter a remark about the female marten's face."

There were some insults a captain just didn't stoop to.


	18. Ride Across the River

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 18. Ride Across the River**

_by Bellona_

_"The cause it is noble, and the cause it is just.  
We are ready to pay with our lives, if we must!"_

The Broad Stream wove east and gradually south for three days until scraggly bushes lined the banks, themselves giving way to sand and a few robust grasses. With each change in vegetation, Bell tried to assess the various modes of attack Nashald's creatures might use and, conversely, what defenses Martin's Shadow had to employ. The trees had been a blessing and a curse. The terrain was difficult to cross at any speed, but the dense wood of Mossflower offered excellent cover. And while the shade of the canopy was a welcome respite, each shake of the leaves could hide the deadly hiss of an arrow.

She kept two creatures devoted to watching the shore until they left all but the thinnest stands behind.

Moving toward this desert, then, meant that traveling was easier, but unseen dangers lurked here for beasts on land and water, alike. The barren countryside offered little protection on either side, and the unrelenting sun addled the mind, blinded the eyes, and set the land afire underpaw.

She ordered everybeast to keep his head covered and stay in the longboat.

Another day passed in the desert with everybeast becoming less harried, but more crossed with the heat. Bell maintained her self-control. Sailpaw wanted to push Deadtail out of the boat after the rat gave him a 'dirty look'. The dormouse reprimanded her old friend. The vermin couldn't help that all his looks were dirty with a face like that. Damask did not find the sentiment quite as humorous as the rest of Martin's Shadow.

Five days after leaving their home behind, the supplies were running low and Bell had spotted neither hide nor hair of another living creature. She thought she might have seen a scaled tail vanishing into a small hole in the riverbank early in the morning, but she held little hope that reptiles would come to their aid.

"So, how long are we going to continue?" Damask demanded as the sun began its tortuously slow descent toward the horizon. He perched, as usual, on the rim of the longboat. Bell had warned him against such foolishness two days ago, but the little robin had yet to take the advice to heart. Perhaps a spear in his back would convince him. "It's all well and fine to say we're going to sail on to the land of 'Here Be Monsters', but it's not the most practical end point."

"We can't go back," the dormouse pointed out. "The only option then, is to move forward. That is the nature of our flight and war, sir Robin."

"You could always move sideways." Deadtail shrugged.

"Oh, a clever beastie, are ye?" Giddy snorted in a fine imitation of Sailpaw.

"Cleverer'n most t'stay alive some odd seasons, aye," the rat agreed sweetly through bared teeth.

"Yes, but in any case," the minstrel continued, "we can't paddle on indefinitely. Surely there must be something that-"

"So, go'n scout ahead, laddie," Sailpaw seemed to relish the moment a little too much as he cut the bird off. "The Fates saw fit t'bless oor spy with wings fer a reason."

"It's a bit warm for our _only_ spy to be exerting himself, wouldn't you say, Captain?" Bell pointed out. She had been pointing out a lot of things to the squirrel lately. He really should think for himself sometimes.

"Och! If the wee birdie cannae take a bit o'exercise in the day, then wha' gud is he?" Sailpaw rejoined, his temper flaring predictably. "Ye keep praisin' yer spy when he's about as useful as a sword made o'jelly!"

"Sir." Bell's eyes narrowed. How many more times were they going to go through this? "I can value a beast even when his talents are not immediately useful, sir."

"Oh, aye! Like tha' worthless Freyr!" the Captain snarled. "I mean…" he amended when Bell's fur began to bristle noticeably. "Ach! Bell, I dinnae mean fer it t'coom out like-"

"Yes, sir." She managed civilly, looking resolutely away. The recruits didn't need to be party to a seasons old argument. "Your disapproval of my choice of husbands is noted, sir. As always, sir."

An awkward silence buoyed them along to nightfall when Bell ordered Arendell and Giddy to keep watch and wake her and Silvertail in four hours' time. The young recruits, eager to please after such a tense few hours, sat dutifully on either side of the boat, watching the banks for movement. Bell couldn't help but shake her head at the enthusiastic creatures. They'd strain their backs sitting that stiffly all night. Nevermind. They'd learn that soon enough. She let herself drift into a light slumber.

= ~ = ~ =

A deep rumbling pulled Bell back to conscious awareness. She opened one eye and glanced up at the night sky. The Dipper's cup told her she was long past due for a guard switch. Her gaze came down again and her tail twitched irritably when she saw Giddy and Arendell slumped, snoring peacefully in the center of the longboat. She should have known better than to set two new recruits together for a watch. No harm done, though, it seemed.

The dormouse yawned as she scanned the shore. The river had widened considerably during the night, the banks a longbow's shot away on either side. She could feel the boat skimming along the surface of the water faster than before and the wind had picked up. Bell welcomed the cool breeze, but the strange noise worried her. She shuffled to the bow, trying to get a better look. The moon offered only a quarter of her light, but it was enough in such a desolate setting.

Nothing. There was nothing up ahead.

_Nothing?_ That didn't seem right. More desert and river perhaps, but not… Her eyes went wide as realization dawned on her.

"Wake up! Everybeast, wake up!" Bell commanded, roughly shaking the creatures nearest to paw and almost knocking Damask into the river. What a ridiculous place to sleep! Had she told him that? Never mind now. _Focus._

"Wha…? Leftenant?" Silvertail asked confusedly as the dormouse shoved a paddle into the squirrelmaid's chest.

"Row backward and toward the north bank," Bell ordered, all pleasantries abandoned. "All of you! Row!"

"Miss Bellona?" The minstrel's voice cut through the panicked shuffling as everybeast moved to obey. "What's going on?"

"Damask!" A bird. Right! One less thing to worry about. "Get off the boat, now. Fly somewhere nearby. Just get off!"

She brandished an oar at him unnecessarily in her haste and he took to wing with a frightened trill. The dormouse did not spare the robin another thought. He was safe.

"Rat!" She whirled on Deadtail who was already frantically paddling. _Good._ He knew how to save his own hide, at least, this 'scout'.

Everybeast worked quickly and efficiently to strike up an organized rhythm until Tracy, an otherwise quiet rabbit, shouted, "Oh, it's hopeless to fight a waterfall! I can see the edge!"

"Waterfall!?" Some of the more naïve creatures cried and looked around in terror.

"Keep rowin' if ye value yer lives!" Sailpaw snarled, but Bell could see, as Tracy did, that they would reach the falls before the bank. There was nothing for it.

"Out! Everybeast out! Get away from the boat!" the dormouse hollered, shoving at the bewildered recruits who were trying to follow both sets of orders. "We're going over, sir!"

"Boggin', tail-thumpin', frog-legged sons o' harp-!" The roar of the waterfall swallowed the rest of the squirrel's curse as the longboat tipped up and up and began to turn over.

"_Out_!" Bell screamed, grabbing the closest beast and dragging him along as she jumped away from the doomed craft. Her terrified gaze caught sight of a pool at the bottom where white rocks shimmered in the moonlight below the roiling surface.

_Oh, Fates!_ Of all the ways to go, why did it have to be the result of her own stupidity?

= ~ = ~ =

_"Bells…" he whispered with such tenderness as she nuzzled against his sturdy frame. "Bells, I think your friend hates me. I'll show him, though. I'll show him how much I deserve you."_

"Don't bother, Freyr," she murmured back. "The Captain'd throw himself on his sword before admitting he was wrong about you… Like I was."

"Mm…I hope he doesn't turn out feeling like you do for me." He poked her muzzle and grinned, absolutely ruining the atmosphere. "That might get awkward."

"Fates, but you could turn an army with that cheek!" She laughed lightly. Lying with Freyr was never predictable. She had to give him credit there. It was a strategic chaos, an organized impromptu, a contradiction in all terms and for that she loved him. Freyr's whirlwind was one that did not slice or bite or sting, it carried her on a merry romp and set her back down safely to carry on -- to fight and protect.

"I'd die for you," she said suddenly, urgently, paws twisting into his coarse fur too tightly. She needed him to know.

"Oh, Bells," Freyr's voice became gentle once more as he traced a scar along her arm. "I would never ask you to die for me. That seems too easy. Live for me. That's the more difficult path."

"Aye…maybe," she muttered, loosening her hold. "But I have enough to live for already."

"Freyr!" Bell gasped, then choked as she inhaled water. After hacking up her lungs and vomiting for good measure, she looked up and around. Crude huts dotted the landscape nearby and in the faint glow of fire and moonlight she could see silhouettes moving about.

Neither young nor green enough to wait for the help to come to her anymore, the dormouse rose with one last painful cough, and turned her back on the little village. _Arms. Legs. Neck. Head. Nose. Tail. Dirk. I'm fine._ Everything intact and in its proper place still. She needed to check on the others, then.

"Miss Bellona!" Damask fluttered down next to her, his normally jaunty tune replaced by worry. "Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere? I came as fast as I could! I saw you go over the falls and I tried to find you after, but with all the mist… Is there someth-"

"Just look for the others." Bell waved away his concerned twittering.

A quick search turned up Tracy and Silvertail's corpses. Bell did not pause to mourn them, though the robin looked horrified at the thrashing the bodies had taken. She took a moment to pat his wing. Comfort for the living, not the dead.

They found Sailpaw swearing up a storm and tying his bandanna around a gash on Arendell's arm while the ottermaid did her best to keep a straight face at the blasphemous swill pouring from her Captain's mouth. Giddy came limping over shortly, looking more dejected than a beast who had just survived a waterfall had any right to. Deadtail was nowhere in sight -- thank the Fates for small favors.

"Leftenant, m'am," Giddy moaned as he drew close, his over-sized ears drooping with more than just damp and fatigue. "Riversong an' Tupelo are de'd, m'am."

"Aye. Tracy and Silver, as well." She clenched her jaws together tightly, but maintained an outward poise, as she had with Damask. _If I'd just stayed up for the first watch…_

Best not to dwell on 'could have been's. These creatures here and now mattered, not the ones in Dark Forest. The dormouse surveyed the area again. A few of the silhouettes from the huts had torches and were moving toward the quintet.

Well, that was a welcome relief. She could tell by the shape of the huts -- simple, but sound -- and what looked like vegetable gardens and an orchard that they were among friends. Bell let herself relax ever so slightly, then regretted it a moment later as their 'friends' came into clear view not twenty paces away.

Seven vermin stood, dumbfounded, staring at the remnants of Martin's Shadow. The woodlanders, in turn, stared bemusedly at the cousins of the very creatures they'd been running away from.

"Told you I heard something, Captain," an unimpressive stoat finally squeaked.

"That you did, cully," a large dogfox replied, scratching his chin.

Silence held for three full seconds. Then Sailpaw ordered, "Run!" The tattered band scattered before their foes could respond properly.

Bell pitched forward, directly into the vermin throng, drawing her dirk and slashing every which way as she barreled through. Best to draw their attention so that the others could escape…into the desert…without food or water. Less than ideal, but it had to be better than becoming prisoners or slaves.

The only way out to the desert was through the vermin encampment, though, so the dormouse charged forward, head jerking around for signs of friend or foe. She caught sight of Sailpaw helping Giddy along, and marching directly toward them, the biggest ferret Bell had ever laid eyes on.

_No more._ She stamped her left footpaw into the shifting sand and bounded off to the right to intercept the brute of a mustelid. _No more deaths today!_

_At least not on my side…_


	19. Como un topo

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 19. Como un topo**

_by Deadtail_

He woke to pain—a dull, pervasive ache across his entire body. Lying motionless, Deadtail opened his eyes and looked up, trying to remember why the roaring noise just behind him sounded so familiar.

The waterfall. He had tried to jump out of the boat, but had he made it? Apparently not; out of the corner of his eye, he could see the water continuing to gush downwards. But that didn't matter. He was alive.

Seeing nobeast around, the rat took his time before he climbed up. By that time, the pain wasn't so bad, but all of a sudden he felt a sharp pain in his leg. Deadtail didn't bother to check who might be watching, but took off his faded uniform to inspect it.

For once in his life, the rat smiled at a swordpoint poking him. The waterfall hadn't taken away the weapon he'd carried with him from Bulgam's army. Though a furtive glance around as he pulled his uniform back on did not reveal any threat, he was always better off armed.

Deadtail turned towards the bottom of the waterfall, which flowed into a pool. Several forms lay slumped on the other side of the pool. Even if they had once constituted Martin's Shadow, they were no longer his business. He meandered away, towards the back of the waterfall itself, where there seemed to be some sort of opening. Sword first, he advanced into the semidarkness.

The water continued to beat down behind him. There was not much room between it and the rocks piled at the back of the cave, certainly not enough to be anybeast's home. Still, it seemed as fine a place as any to rest for some time. His eyes didn't need to adjust to the dark; it was almost as dark outside. He had not been unconscious for too long.

As he felt around the edges of the cave for a comparatively soft place to lay his head, he noticed what appeared to be a dark smear on the wall. He paid it no mind, ignored a similar one just beyond, but couldn't resist curiosity when he saw another above that. Squinting, Deadtail attempted to make sense of the smudges. One appeared to be in the shape of a mouse; the next resembled some sort of weasel. Both creatures had paws outstretched toward the other; each paw seemed to hold something, though it was too dark for him to make out the details.

Whatever it was was no concern of his. Deadtail lay down, closed his eyes—and tilted his head at the sound of noise from outside.

Grabbing his sword, he rose and peered out through the opening of the cave. He saw nothing, but the noise had grown louder. The rat stepped out and looked around; on the other side of the pool, a small battle was in full force.

"Have at ye, scum!"

"Huh, is this what they're sendin' these seasons? Pfah!"

Nobeast seemed to notice the rat as he crept around the pool, watching the fighting rage on. Some, though not all, of his longboat companions, struggled against a squadron of vermin who outnumbered them, perhaps two to one.

Deadtail had seen too many creatures to take first impressions for granted. The ruthless general who would sacrifice anything to win might be a coward beneath it all. The obese ferret might be the finest archer in the woodlands. No one beast could be fully understood in a single glance.

But when it came to armies, things were altogether different. There was, quite simply, no way that so few half-drowned woodlanders could defeat the horde that had materialized. Usually, it would take the rat many battles before he realized he was on the wrong side, but he no longer had that luxury. Oh, he could have stood and waited for things to die down, but alone in the desert, he could wander for days unless he was part of a group that knew what they were doing.

The vermin would triumph, and Deadtail fancied his chances alongside them far more than in a cage at their paws. He would just infiltrate their diverse ranks in the chaos. Many armies he'd seen were full of common rat soldiers, with other animals comprising the officer ranks, but there rats and weasels fought side-by-side, while a wildcat—A _wildcat_? Yes, he was definitely better off outside of Martin's Shadow.

Even if any of the woodlanders got away, they'd be in no shape to mount a counterattack. Still, the best thing to do was to make the vermin's victory complete. Not _their_ victory, he told himself. _Ours_.

He recognized the ottermaid, Erin or somebeast. Her face was not that of a carefree riverdog, though, but a grim warrior. She was holding her own against a full-grown ferret who lunged forward, scimitar at the ready. But hers was there first, slicing through his paw and sending the scimitar falling harmlessly to the ground. The ferret backed away, scrambling for it.

As the ottermaid pursued the ferret, Deadtail attacked from behind her. His sword tore through her back, and she fell to the ground, blood pouring onto the sand. When every step might be over a corpse, any surface was the same for fighting on—riverbank, grassy valley, or woodland soil.

_The dirt was more than everywhere; the only place they were was the place the dirt was not. "Only moles live in holes," he'd mutter, but it earned him a glare._

"Shut yer trap! There's a mad badger wandrin' about!"

"Aye, but even mad badgers'll die if there's a sword through their—"

"I said, shaddap!"  
  
In the end, Deadtail did keep his quiet through the seasons. The old loony was right on that—but little else. Only morons hid when there was danger apaw; he was safer in numbers. The larger, the better. Perhaps he should have been more tolerant of digging tunnels, though—it might have prevented the scene that stretched before him. There were only a dozen or so beasts, and fewer still standing, but they emanated the stench of a far larger battle.

There was no sign of the robin—though if the rat had wings, he wouldn't be anywhere near the waterfall either. Deadtail thought he glimpsed the dormouse, but as his eyes roved for her, his ears were assaulted from below. "You!"

He hadn't killed the otter? His thrusts had weakened severely. She posed no immediate threat, of course, and he wanted to move on and eliminate some other beast from the fray. But if she survived in that condition, vengeance on the "traitor" would surely come to mind.

It was a pity. Just because he was free from such delusions didn't stop his life from being threatened by others' stupidity. All he could do was waste his time there. Annoyed, Deadtail sent his sword to her throat and silenced her for good.


	20. Careful With That Axe, Eugene

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 20. Careful With That Axe, Eugene.**

_by Rath_

"I can help."

The cook, a rotund ferret, glared. "Aye, 'm sure y'can," he quipped, looking the warrior up and down.

Rath peered past the hostile chef into the hut, inhaling the tantalizing odors exhaled from within. Every second or so, he could catch a blink of a weasel running about inside. There was its tail, as it scurried out of sight, and then again he caught a glimpse of a tray of something steaming clutched in rag-wrapped paws.

"Well." The rounder ferret simply sniffed. "If I need anything chopped to pieces, then I'll let you know." With that, he pivoted and waddled back into the hut. Immediately, there was the sound of pottery shattering and the rest was all but drowned out by the cook's yelling at his assistant. Could he do anything right? Just what _was_ he good for, anyway?

Rath drew back, the jealousy bubbling inside from earlier all but dissipating. "Huh, wouldn't wanna work for that 'un anyway," he murmured, trudging away.

Rath spotted a coconut palm a fair distance from the main activity of their oasis and plunked himself down on the sand beneath. Leaning against the trunk, the ferret watched the comings and goings of their new camp.

It was infuriating; he was doing those fools a favor by offering to assist them, and he was tired of being talked down to like a novice. He narrowed his good eye at the hut that had been dubbed the infirmary, and growled. See if I ever try 'n help them again. He knew everything there was to know about slicing a beast to bits, so he'd imagined it would only be a short step to sewing them up again. But there was nothing for it and he was left to himself, bored and nursing a grudge against at least everything ever.

Realizing how thirsty he was, the ferret levered himself to his paws with his axe and was about to walk off when he remembered something. Scanning the area around him, he then removed the small drawstring pouch from his bag and inspected it with a wary eye.

_Keane's Balm_. It wasn't as if there was anything better for him to do, and he was beginning to grow curious about the stuff.

Opening the bag, the ferret took a tentative sniff and his head jerked back instinctively. "Phaw!" It wasn't what he would call a bad scent, but very strong. It overpowered his nostrils and very quickly moved on to deal a finishing blow to his sinuses, eventually leaving him rubbing at his left eye.

Rath paused, muscles stiff with apprehension. Nothing. Drawing the pouch closed, he attached it to his belt once more and padded off to find some water.

As the pool drew into sight, the ferret grew more and more aware of his own heart underneath his fur, thrumming against his ribs like a caged bird. Blinking, the ferret glanced around him and saw that everything was surrounded in a fiery corona, a halo of brilliant color all shifting and shimmering and beckoning and _exciting!_ And the smells! The ferret inhaled and shivered at the influx of scents, foreign and magnificent, that he had never thought to pay attention to before.

"allo! Wotcher doin', Scars?"

Rath practically jumped a foot in the air. He whipped around, nearly tripping over his axe in the process, to see the female stoat he had helped earlier staring inquisitively at him. He waved a shaking paw. "Oh, hi! Revel! Doing? Oh, just gettin' some water," he gushed, previous words trampled over in the rush of new ones escaping his mouth. And then he noticed he was still waving and put his paw down.

"Oh, aye," the stoat raised a curious whiskerbrow. "I could use some water m'self. Noggin 'urts somethin' awful. No thanks to that babblin' birdsong 'og." The stoat suddenly looked over her shoulder, as if her words might have summoned the skeletal hedgehog. Satisfied that nothing of the sort had happened, she grinned at Rath. "And it looks to me as if yer..." She blinked, suddenly looking beyond Rath to somewhere behind him. "Fancy! Lookit that!"

Rath turned, although it was really more leap than necessary. "What what?"

"Over there! 'neath that tree."

The ferret's eyes followed the length of Revel's arm out into the distance like an arrow until it came to rest quivering on… "A coconut?" Had he been more lucid, the ferret probably would have been happy he hadn't still been resting beneath the tree, but the large, fuzzy fruit was too compelling for anything else to possibly matter. He'd heard about them from sailors and corsairs passing through town, and eyed the ones in the market covetously, but until this moment had never had the chance to even hold one.

The stoat scratched her head. "Ain't never eaten one of those afore. Wunner if'n it tastes better'n it looks?"

The ferret shivered with an almost unbearable giddiness that twisted his insides. A particularly toothy smile etched a path across his face. "Well, why don't we find out?"

--

Several moments later and the two mustelids were resting a safe distance from the tree, spattered from ears to tail with bits of shell, coconut milk, and fruit, and dooking madly.

"Wikky-shivers, mate!" The stoat giggled, licking bits of the stuff from her claw-tips. "That was a good strike there!"

The ferret chuffed, trying to figure out whether the tingling in his paws was from excitement or reverberation from the diabolic strokes needed to split such a monstrous husk. "Nearly as good as splittin' a beast's head."

"Oh, aye!" Revel's eyes were wide with sincerity. "You gotta strike it just so, though, or it won't work right."

"You gets a good swing," Rath's eye slit as he pantomimed the action. "And then you crack the skull wide open; Chirack!" He nearly saw the exclamation turn to a bloody mist and if he tried, he could even inhale the musky scent. It looked as if Revel could as well, judging by her expression.

The stoat clapped her paws with glee. "Yes, yes! And then th'brains are ready for eatin'!"

"Yes!" Rath's mind caught up. "Wait, what?"

"Oh, well," Revel sifted a pawful of sand through her claws as she explained. "They're not just ready yet, of course. You gotta cook 'em just right, otherwise it's all mucky."

Rath blinked. And then blinked some more. He quirked his head, trying to figure out what was so wrong with that statement when it struck him. "… I ain't never had brain afore. Is it good?"

The stoat offered the sagest of nods. "Hm. I like th'meat parts better, really. But then, I only 'ad it once and I made it mucky by accident. I got sent away afore I could try 'is parents."

"Oh," Rath murmured, tracing an 'x' in the sand before looking up, his good eye berry-bright. "What say we try to make it proper tonight, then? With one o' th'slaves, I mean." He snorted. "Ain't like they're useful fer anything else now there's nothing to row."

Now it was the stoat's turn to blink. And then she smiled a smile that would have probably frightened off all but the most courageous of fighters. "Oooh! That'd be lovely. Only…" paws on her hips, Revel took on a serious tone. "I've gotta be th'one cookin'. An' we ought to take one of th'ones that doesn't think." She sighed, popping a bit of fruit into her mouth. "Only, now I don't know which sorts can think an' which sorts don't... stupid Pine confused me. Maybe an otter?"

The ferret opened his mouth when a shout from further away caught his attention. Rath blinked, flicking a chunk of coconut from his whiskers as he stood up to see who was calling him. A weasel waved him over. "Oy! Cap'n wants yer for a scoutin' party, ferret! Quick, now!"

Rath bristled; he was rather getting tired of being ordered about. But at least he had something to do. Hefting the axe over one shoulder, he nodded to the stoat still seated on the ground before running off.

--

The effects of the balm wore off soon after the patrol began. It was as if a heavy fog lifted, and with it was a relief and a vague sort of longing that lingered for a moment only to vanish, leaving Rath clear of mind and focused on his mission. The ferret moved his head this way and that to get a perfect picture of his surroundings. On one side of the camp was desert, but as the group moved around the other end he could hear the booming battle cry of a waterfall as it rushed to attack the boulders below in a never-ending test of strength.

Just as the party was about to make it back to camp, they noticed movement coming from the waterfall. Stepping forward, the warrior gripped his axe. Perhaps it was that lizard, Medjool? He'd heard about that beast, but had never actually seen one of his kind before.

The figures came into view and Rath bristled. Of all the beasts he'd expected to find in this desert…

He shook his head. He hadn't been expecting anybeast at all, so although the woodlanders were bothersome, it wasn't really any more surprising than anything else.

The ferret didn't know what to make of the situation. It was a tattered, sorry looking band of beasts that stood there, staring at the corsairs, and yet, their first move was to rush in and attack. Amidst the consternation, Rath loped across the sand toward a ragged looking squirrel and hare, a growl building in his throat. The ferret snorted looking down at the bedraggled creatures, who drew their weapons; mere kindling. "I don't know who you lot are," he rumbled, hefting his axe. "But get in the way and I'll kill you."

"Och, ye big lummox!" The squirrel waved his own weapon, an annoying grin planted on his face. "Ye'll regret challengin' Captain—"

With alarming speed, a mouse with a bushy tail that didn't fit her at all bounded forward and set herself in between Rath and the woodlanders, effectively cutting off the squirrel mid-boast. "Sailpaw, Giddy; get out of here," she growled. The maid looked half-drowned, and yet she glared up at the larger creature in front of her.

This time, there was no bandying of taunts or threats. The mouse-creature's stood with her weight shifted and her face devoid of fear as she looked up at her enemy, scanning him. _So. A little warrior._ The ferret turned his head and returned the courtesy, but only for a moment.

With a fearsome growl, the larger warrior launched himself forward. His paws tread the sand with ease, and for a moment he saw the background shift and morph into the fighting pit with its glorious crowd and blood-spattered walls. And there, standing before him, was just another low-life trying to make a name for herself.

To her credit, the mouse-beast stayed her ground, paw hovering just above a sheath at her side. Rath allowed himself a rare grin as he swept his axe, and he could already hear the wondrous crack that knee bones made when they splintered just so.

At the last possible moment, the mouse rolled out of harm's way, landing on all fours in the sand. Momentum sent Rath roaring past, and he just managed to whip around and fend off a thrust from the mouse's dirk, snarling as he beat the smaller weapon aside with the edge of his axe.

The mouse attempted pushing back against the axe blade, and Rath sneered at the pitiful attempt. Suddenly, the smaller combatant dropped down, forcing Rath to stagger, and giving the mouse ample time to slash at his footpaw. The larger warrior grunted and sliced downward, but the mouse had darted to his right, beyond his field of vision, and he barely managed to parry a glancing blow to his side. Swinging the blade in a countering arc, he caught the mouse in the left arm, and brought the axe down in a chopping swipe as she winced. The strike only managed to sheer a clump of fur from the mouse's tail and Rath snarled; it had appeared further away.

All across the sands, the battle raged. Rath drove in like his namesake, slashing, slicing, and sweeping with dizzying speed, but the strange mouse creature was faster still, jumping about in the most infuriating manner. With every blow, the ferret imagined the ways in which his foe would die, each more gruesome than the last: _Sliced clean through._ She dodged, falling into the sand. _Stomach split open._ She jumped backward, landing nimbly. _Beheaded._ Another dodge. And another.

His eye narrowed to a sheer slit, the ferret bulled in with a vicious swing and this time, the mouse didn't manage to avoid the blast. She screamed, and light glinted off the blade of her dirk as it flew through the air before burying itself in the sand. Rath, eyes alight with fevered glee, tripped his opponent with an expert flick of the axe, and then kicked her when she was down, leaving the mouse sobbing for breath.

Just as the ferret raised his axe for a fatal blow, the smaller warrior snatched a pawful of sand and flung it at her enemy's face.

The axe blade made a piff as it fell harmlessly into the sand. Its owner howled and staggered about, rubbing at his eye. Engulfed in agony, the ferret barely noticed the combined war cries and the pounding of a larger number of paws against the sand. Forcing the eye open, he saw through bleary vision that the only traces of his combatant were spots of blood flecked about the sand in the opposite direction; she'd fled.

Rath snarled. _Bloody, 'Gates-blasted coward!_

His attention was captured by the new group of beasts who had poured into the clearing. A one-eyed mouse appeared to be at the head, with a mole at her side. The ferret picked up his axe and turned to the beasts at his side, remembering that he wasn't the only one there after all.

"Try 'n hold them back!" Captain Matukhana roared. And Rath was only too glad to oblige.

He had been cheated out of his victory by one woodlander, and he would give the rest of them no quarter.


	21. Then I Close My Eyes

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 21. Then I Close My Eyes**

_by Revel_

When the sun began to peek over the horizon, Revel was just waking up. The night had been pleasantly cool, and her stomach didn't cause her any grief so much as her bowels did. That coconut stuff was tasty, but she wasn't sure she was keen on trying it again anytime soon. When the stoat stumbled out of her hidey-hole in the sand and actually looked at her surroundings in the light proper, only one word came to mind.

_Bright._ This was something Revel was sure she'd never get used to. The fields she'd known growing up had been dazzling with their golden stalks in autumn - but they'd also been wind-dappled and cloud-softened, never so _still_. Not even a coarse howl of wind was stirring the dunes here. Enough to raise the neck bristles on anybeast, it was.

It always took a while to get initiated into a new group. This time, Revel was completely lost. These vermin were considerably more organized than the bickering forest clans, with actual ranks and positions. They actually had just _one_ ferret doing all the cooking! Again, she had been sent away from the cook's new hut-based kitchen with a stern vocal warning and the _rrroing_ of a fresh knife in the door beside her ear.

The stoat found herself wandering aimlessly with her thoughts in tow like confused ducklings. They were few, staggering in circles after her and each-other, and occasionally one would fall over.

But it was nice to be alone with them all the same. Solitude was something Revel treasured, and which she hadn't had any of since waking up in that hedgehog cottage. With nobeast to confuse her mind with complicated ideals, the world was a wondrous place, all just blazing sights, fantastical sounds, and an eternal swirling rainbow of new and old scents. This was life; this was her world. Not in voice or thought shared between creatures, but every sense drowning in the reality of it all. The sand was wonderful, the stifling hot air was splendid, the sound of crunching grains was water to her ears.

And Eliza had ruined it.

Revel growled low and stormed around in a circle, kicking up a fog of dust around her footpaws. Who was she to say that woodlanders could think? That ugly pine...thing had no experience with them. Revel had. She'd fought them, stole from them, killed them - and what had they done to suggest their lives were of any importance? _She_ felt, _she_ saw and tasted and smelled and heard. _She_ lived.

Eliza had not.

The hedgehog had a name. Was that enough?

Revel headed to the slave pit. It was really more of a trench, dug out of a pre-existing depression in the dirt. A small irrigation stream bled through to the outlying field; runoff from the oasis pool. The slaves were still shackled, until such a time as Matukhana decided to put them to work in the fields. The hedgehog, Suellyn, and even Eliza had been tied up again. Revel had been as well, but by the time they'd rounded her up with the rest, they had run out of shackles from the slave galley, and had to make-do with stray bits of rope - which she had then gnawed through when the guard wasn't looking. It had tasted salty.

The guard this time was different, a bored-looking weasel balancing on the lip of the ditch as if for sport. He glanced her way; in the hazy heat, it was hard to make things out. Revel was poking Suellyn's stomach gently, hissing at the hedgehog. He could see nothing wrong with this picture so long as he heard the clanking of chains. The weasel stepped onto firmer ground, glanced back towards the village, and leaned on his spear, sighing.

"I want my hammer," somebeast said behind him. The weasel kicked some sand in their face.

Revel found Suellyn curled up, the slaves around her giving plenty of room.

"Psst. 'Edgehog! 'Eeeeedgehooooog." Revel prodded, practically rolling Suellyn over onto her back. The hedgehog opened a sand-encrusted eye and smiled.

"Revel."

"Aye." It had a memory, of course. A rather annoying one. It reminded Revel of salmon.

"Can you think?" Revel asked.

"About what?"

"About things." Revel stomped her footpaw impatiently, oblivious to the irony of the conversation. "'Ow can I know if you think if you don't even know what to think about? Stupid creature."

"Well, o' course I think," Suellyn said. She chortled, shaking her head at the stoat almost pityingly. "I just figured you meant about somethin' specific."

The hedgehog yawned, squinting her eyes closed for a second or two. But Revel had already stood up and stormed off down the line, not paying any more attention to the sleepy hog's words. All this stuff going on in her head was getting far too annoying, and somebeast had to recompense her for that.

"Scissor-face!"

Eliza had seemed asleep at first, leaning up against the side of the ditch. But at this utterance from Revel, the pine marten snapped her teeth just inches from the stoat's nose. The two slaves on either side gave moans of surprise at being yanked awake. Revel smiled down at them all, safely out of range, then stuck out her tongue and cackled.

"Lookit you, all tied up still. Hah!"

"Step closer, flabgut, I've got something to show you."

"Ooh?" Revel actually _did_ take a step. But then she took three steps back.

"Clever," she snorted. "Clever pine. Almost 'ad me."

"Pine _marten_."

"The 'edgehog can't think," Revel said, pointing her nose down the line in Suellyn's direction. "You were wrong. An' now you're stuck 'ere with all of 'em! Nagger-nug - "

Eliza smiled suddenly. Revel shut her maw quick.

"Revel. If you let me free, I can see about getting you a nice dress like mine."

Revel examined the marten's dress again. Now she could see it in better light, it did look quite nice, although terribly ruined by the ordeals it had been through. The thought of having so splendid a dress was simply delightful. Revel grinned and clapped her paws.

"Chivvers! I'll be back."

It did not take the stoat very long at all to find an appropriate tool. Yet her return to the slave's ditch was hindered by a motley assortment of vermin and woodlanders poking along. Revel kept her distance, hoping nobeast would recognize her. Most of them seemed too busy with the task at paw: she spotted Rath, holding a furious-but-dazed squirrel still, as Matukhana himself tied its paws together - behind the rodent's back this time - with stray rope. A short scuffle broke out with the hare shackled next to Suellyn. The beast was unlocked and their body dragged off. A dormouse was put in its place beside the hedgehog. None of them looked her way.

She slid into the ditch next to Eliza.

"Where did you get that?" Eliza whispered, looking skeptical about the weapon in Revel's paws. "Is that Slug-guard's?"

"Rath's," Revel corrected. "No. I stole it from a rat. 'Ere, 'old still."

"Wait!"

The corsairs only had enough chain to keep the slaves' forepaws locked up, keeping the footpaws free for trekking. Where the individual chains ran out, they were looped together at the end, to keep a continuous line. It was almost as if they were being forced to play a gigantic game of tug-o-war.

Eliza scooped a furrow in the sand and lay her paws and the chain down in it. She then instructed Revel to fill it in and draw lines overtop where the chain lay: Two on either side, to disconnect Eliza from the rest of the slaves, and one in the middle, to give her the freedom to move her arms apart. The shackles themselves would have to remain for the time being.

Even with these precautions, the marten was uncertain.

"Can't you find a key or something?"

"Naw. I chopped wood afore. Move your 'ead back."

"No, no, I think you should try to distract the guard and - "

Revel, impatient with the marten's dallying, struck a blow for freedom. Eliza's head crashed into the sand with a _pff_, her body tilting to the side. Sticking her tongue out, Revel reversed the axe in her paws, now gripping the handle properly, and concentrated.

_Fwoach! Scrinch! Tshnff!_ Dulled clinks echoed each sound, and sweeping the sand aside, Revel found her aim to be true. Eliza was free.

The stoat frowned and tossed the axe down.

"You owe me a dress," she said, kicking the unconscious marten softly. "But we're even on bruises for now."

Further down the ditch, chaos and confusion was keeping everyone's attention focused. Revel clambered out again and headed back to the village. There was something she had to do.

At the other end of the ditch from the new additions, the weasel guard began playing with a balled-up headband, kicking it between his footpaws as he patted away a yawn.

* * * * * *

Revel followed her nose; Nivard's scent was singular and strong. It would lead her right to him... once she sniffed past all the other vermin scents assaulting her. It was not as bad as the ship, but still far more concentrated than she was used to. It didn't help that the lingering odors of woodlanders were settled in deep everywhere, and the fine mist of battle had not yet dissipated.

She saw another stoat headed the opposite direction, one in clunky, ill-fitting chain mail, and turned to stare after him as he passed by.

Now that was curious.

She followed. His scent... it was not entirely _appetizing_, not in the way Nivard's was. Nivard's was sickly sweet, a powerful kick to the sinuses, like . This stoat's scent was weaker, almost distilled, a bit tangy and sour, but...

But so familiar.

He noticed her, and stopped.

"Can I... help you?" he said, tilting his head and eying her stomach.

"You smell," she said.

"Now look here, I - "

"Musty, like dead leaves. A bit of caterpillar doings." She sniffed again, closer. "Vinegar an' feathers... soggy clay. You threw up on yourself." She frowned at this. "Days ago. An'... somethin' wet, sharp. Your armor 'urts, right 'ere." She tapped her head, between her eyes, which were watering a little. "But th'rest I smelled afore. Do I know you?"

The male fixed her with a steady - but baffled - stare. Revel wrinkled her nose. The nervousness was pouring off him now.

"I think there's been a mistake," he mumbled, backing away slowly. Revel raised a brow and let him scamper off between two huts. He certainly didn't _look_ familiar.

She tried for a moment to place his scent, with no luck. She couldn't even remember Bruscus's scent, and he could have given Nivard some serious competition.

Revel sighed, shoulders heaving. She didn't like not remembering things. Eliza had been helpful in piecing together that evening at the tavern, and walking through the desert with the hedgehog had cleared up a little of what had gone on between the cottage and the town - a whole lot of nothing interesting - but this went deeper. She couldn't remember what Bruscus looked like. And that old rat, what had his name been? It hadn't hardly been a week ago yet, and it was gone. Puddlepaw, maybe.

Beasts were fleeting. The world stayed. The trees and grasses were all the same, the seasons returned one after the other. Everything was so simple, a constant she would never take for granted, every day a joy to live.

Beasts were complicated. They moved about, they changed things around them. They changed her world. Revel wished they would stop. They never held _still_ and just let the thrill of _being_ overwhelm them. They never paused to smell the differences between two trees of the same type, or watch the patterns the wind played in the grasses, or listen to the levels of cricket song and know the distance between each one.

Sometimes she felt so alone. And she loved it.

But sometimes she felt she needed something more. Warmth. Comfort. Safety.

So wild her youth had been, so gleeful her chirrups in the fields, that her mother had named her accordingly. These new desires were as strange to her as the desert was. What need had she of warmth? The sun offered plenty. Comfort? A spot of grass by a stream was all she'd known. Safety? A bizarre sentiment for life in the forest, full of hawks and owls and woodlanders. _She_ had no need of such a thing.

Yet something in her thought she did, and so she hunted them out. The desire to find these things was as painful in her thoughts as that strange stoat's armor polish was in her sinuses.

"Oh. Revel, hello."

The stoat glanced up. The wildcat, Keane, was just shutting the door of a hut behind him. Revel held her breath; even so, she felt dizzy. He was a strange creature, stranger even than Eliza, and there was just something about him that made her feel loose and melted.

"'allo..."

"Hey - you okay?"

"I'm..." Revel blinked a few times. "Fine. Lookin' for somebeast."

"Ah. Nice to see they let you go. Say, you're... you're 'with stoat' aren't you?" The cat was putting something in a coat pocket, almost reluctantly.

"Huh? I was goin' to see Nivard."

"Oh. He's inside. But I mean - aren't you... expecting?"

"Expectin' what?" She eyed the hut wistfully, and began edging towards it, while still keeping her distance from Keane.

"Well... Kits?"

Revel nearly choked on her own tongue.

"No!"

"Oh." Keane glanced at her stomach. Revel self-consciously folded her paws in front of her. He shrugged. "If you say so."

He smiled and waved at her then, and sauntered away whistling. It was the same song she had been humming on the dinghy. Revel glared daggers at his back.

That hedgehog's babbling had gotten through to almost everybeast, it was starting to seem. Wherever had such an idea come from? Revel had known a few kits. They were grabby, dirty things that scampered underpaw and stole food from her and other, more deserving vermin. Such useless whelps they had been, sticky and loud when not outright moronic. There was no way she was going to let them anywhere near her.

She poked her nose through the gap in the doorway, and all misgivings melted away. Nivard was here. That... was really all that mattered right now.

"'oo's that?"

"Revel."

"Wot?"

"I'm Revel," she said, stepping in and closing the door. The hut was dark, the curtains drawn. But she saw the outline of the cot, Nivard sprawled over it; his arrangement of belts was hung on a chair, his hammer leaning against the wall. The air was heavy and dank, filled with his scent, and now peppered with hints of Keane's coat. Her footpaws scratched the thin reed mat as she crossed over to Nivard's bedside.

The male groaned, a sound somewhere between pain and relief, as Revel brushed her paws against his chest.

"You're 'urt," she said, surprised.

"Feh. Got sliced up by a ruddy squirrel. Cap'n got 'im in th'end, though."

Nivard shifted himself up slightly, into a more lounging than laying position. His eyes traveled warily up to Revel's face, squinting in the dark.

"Yer a stoat, right?"

"Aye."

"Mm." He relaxed under her touch then, allowing her to rub his shoulders softly. She sat on the cot next to him, her tail flicking against his. Nivard closed his eyes again. Revel gradually lay herself beside him, digging her muzzle into his neckfur.

"I like your smell," Revel said.

"Hhhnrm. Mind th'bandages."

There were a few, some dry and flaky, some wetted with blood. She let her paw slide over them, only putting pressure where she felt his fur between her claws. She felt scars, and clumps of sand, and began trying to work them out of his fur, to smooth it out as it should be.

"Feh! Mind yer claws, wench!"

Nivard's change was unexpected. Suddenly the stoat was sitting straight up, pushing her away and yet scratching for purchase on her tunic. His fist worked its way around a clump of fabric, bringing her back towards him. His other paw swung around with a sharp crack.

He threw her to the floor and settled back again, growling.

"If ye can't do it right, don' do anythin' at all. Let me sleep."

Revel lay still for a few minutes, until the stinging in her cheek subsided. Quietly, she stood up and slid into the chair. Resting her paws on the back, overtop his belts, she planted her chin and stared at his sleeping silhouette, not daring to move further until he began to snore.

She breathed him in, and understood.

This was warm. This was comfortable.

And now she was fairly certain she knew what safety felt like.

She hoped Eliza would hurry up and get her that dress soon.


	22. Your Little Body's Slowly Breaking Down

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 22. Your Little Body's Slowly Breaking Down**

_by Suellyn_

_It was over. The hogwife allowed her body to relax on the bed. But something was wrong. All was quiet. There should be a cry, a shout of joy. Suellyn weakly forced her eyes open._

"Is it a lad or a maid?"

She received no answer as the room around her swam into focus. There was only a stifled sob as Mother passed the motionless bundle to Baez and rushed out.

"No! No. It's not . . ."

"She's beautiful, Su, jus' like her Mamma." Her husband smiled sadly. "She was jus' too small. T'was too early."

Suellyn cried, shaking her head, "It's my fault. I wasn' strong enough."

"No. I don' want thou t' ever think that." Baez gently laid the stillborn Dibbun into the cradle he had so lovingly carved with his own paws. Then he hurried over to sit beside his wife and stroke her headspikes. "These things 'appen. We're both still young and when thou're ready we'll try again. But only if thou wish it."

The hogwife gazed into her husband's eyes. All of her hopes and dreams were held within those depths. All except for the broken dream that lay in the cradle. "Can I hold 'er?"

Suellyn had woken earlier to Revel's prodding but she wasn't sure what it was that had drawn her from her dreams this time. Waking itself seemed to be getting more difficult. She'd been told once about creatures who got lost in snowstorms and fell asleep never to wake up. Maybe it was the same in the desert.

The hedgehog couldn't let that happen. She sat up and blinked at her surroundings. Dizziness made her want to lie down again, even breathing seemed harder than it had before, but she didn't give in to the blackness.

She wondered where the stoatmaid could have gone and then for the first time noticed the scared dormouse who had been newly shackled beside her.

"Hello, my name's Suellyn."

The dormouse took in the hedgehog's emaciated appearance and nodded. "Bellona," she offered before going back to scanning the pit, constantly on the alert.

Su didn't much care if the other female was interested in talking. She was going to keep this conversation alive and herself with it. "That stoatmaid, Revel, poor thing, she's all alone with no mate to care for her. 'Least I had my Baez when I was caryin' my liddle'un."

She didn't pay any mind to the odd look Bellona gave her. "D'you have a family, Miz Bell? A husband? Dibbuns?"

"I had a husband, m'am."

_Had?_ Was that a note of sadness that the hogwife detected in the other female's voice?

"My Baez was taken by slavers, three seasons back. I miss 'im somethin' awful." Suellyn waited a moment for a response but when she didn't receive one from the distracted dormouse she continued. "I suppose your 'usband was a warrior like yourself?"

Su had recognized the fighting spirit in her fellow prisoner right away. Though she wasn't sure whether it was comforting or disheartening to have such a worthy creature shackled next to her.

Bellona gave a snort of laughter. "Freyr was no fighter." Then she turned a mite wistful. "Bein' with him . . . It was a nice change from the war."

"I can see how that would be . . ."

"It's not the time to chat about those things. We need to get out of these chains."

The interruption startled the hogwife and she realized that she had slipped back down into a prone position. Suellyn levered herself up against the side of the pit.

"Are you well, Sue?" Birch asked her from further down the line. "You look like you could use a drink or somethin'."

The hedgehog raised a weak paw. "I'm jus' fine, jus' tired is all. That trek across the desert took a lot outta me. By the spikes, it did."

Still, shackled paws made quick work of filling a bowl of water from the trickling oasis overflow and passed it down the line to the hogwife.

"Thankee," Suellyn touched her headspikes politely before taking the bowl and raising it to her lips. She took only a small sip and then passed the bowl on to Bellona.

The dormouse received the bowl reluctantly, looking as if she'd rather Su wasn't quite so generous.

"Wot'd I tell you, wench! You stay away from me!"

Everybeast on the slave line looked up as a male stoat led a female of the same species towards the rest of them and away from his own hut.

The hogwife, especially, watched them. She was slipping again, sliding away into oblivion, but she still noticed that there was something about the way this male treated Revel. There was something that belied his rough words.

"You've found him then, Mis Rev." Suellyn coughed. Her vision was blurring now, but she smiled.

Nivard was looking this way and that, down the slave line, trying to find a place to stow his captive. He wouldn't make the mistake of merely tying her up with rope again. No, he was going to make sure that _this_ one didn't get away.

The stoat paid heed to the feeble call among the rest of the silent slaves and his gaze quickly found the hogwife.

"'Ere this one's already 'alf dead." He dragged Revel over to the spot. Then something seemed to spark in his memory. Nivard looked back and forth between the stoatess and the other female. "It's the 'og wot insulted me in front o' everybeast. Well, isn' this a stroke o'luck."

Before anybeast could make a move or a sound of protest, the stoat drew back his sword and ran the hogwife through.

"Oi, Medjool, stop pawin' at that robin an' git over 'ere. Gotta unchain one an' add this'un to the line."

The monitor left the unconscious bird and slunk over. "Whatcha gonna do with the body?" he asked hungrily.

Suellyn barely felt the sword thrust. With it, the last of the slave pit and desert world faded away and something else loomed large in her vision: gates. They were more lovely and welcoming than she could have ever imagined and they were open for her to enter. Her eyes filled with tears, yes, happy tears. She was no longer completely parched. She reached up a paw to wipe at them and found her cheeks to be plump and round.

But she could still hear voices from that other place. _The lizard's goin' to eat me. Well if it 'ad to be some beast I wish it could have at least been Revel. Those kits 'aven' 'ad meat in a few days._

She was distracted from her annoyance, however, by another voice. There, beyond the gates, the smallest, most beautiful hogmaid Su had ever seen was calling out to her.

"Mamma! Oh, Mamma, you're finally here!"

end of week one.


	23. Off the Script

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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start of week two.

**Chapter 23. Off the Script**

by Damask

Hot. The world felt... hot.

Damask's usually melodious voice croaked from the depths of his throat. A spray of sand blew from around his beak as he coughed himself into consciousness. _Where? Why am I in sand?_

"Ah... so the great hero's up, eh?" A voice from above caused Damask to whirl his head around, which sent the world into a spin. The robin squeezed his eyes shut, swaying in place as he tried to keep his head upright. "Aw... got yerself a li'l bump on the noggin?"

A rat. A familiar rat. Damask blinked again, hard, willing his mind to work again. The sun was making everything washed out, like midday on a snow-covered hill: white and burning. His voice was low and rough -- a rasp against metal -- as he spoke, "Deadtail?"

"So he didn't take yer head off completely!" The rat gave a villianous wink and settled down on the bank of the slave pit, letting his paws dangle above Damask's head. He continued, a half-grin on his muzzle, "Ye're the craziest creature I ever saw, Damask. Didja really think you could beat an axe with that hard head of yours?"

_An axe?_ Damask closed his eyes again, willing his brain to work. "So... that thing was real?"

"Thing? Now, Rath's better'n _that_. It's not his fault you thought yer beak was stronger'n his axe," He chuckled to himself. "Aye, you certainly startled him, flyin' into his face like that. But he smacked you to the ground like a horsefly." To emphasize, he gave a meaty smack with his paws.

_Wrath? His axe?_ Damask's eyes snapped open, going wide. _Bellona! She was on the ground, and--_ "Bellona! What happened to her?"

"Oh, settle yer feathers, now, birdie," Deadtail began picking his teeth with a claw, speaking around the digit, "she's just takin' her own nap down the line."

Damask tried to stand, but one leg felt awkward -- heavier than normal. The bird glanced down, his head tilting as he examined the long growth that began at his ankle and continued some ways away, attaching itself to a length of chain between two beasts.

"Oh, we couldn't have ye flyin' off, o' course. Goin' to help that other lot 'n all."

_Rope... it's called rope._ "I'm tied up?"

"Aye. Though soon _trussed up_ might be a better way to put it." The rat's tone lowered and he threw in a conspiratorial wink. "Word 'round is that game's pretty scarce in the desert, you know."

The robin stared for a moment, trying to wrap his brain around the innuendo. It hit, coincidentally, like the side of an axe. "They're going to -- you're serious?"

The toothy grin grew, displaying an array of impressive oral diseases. "Aye, birdie."

_Think, bird!_ Damask sat back on his tailfeathers, collecting himself. He winced as the hot sand began to slowly broil his backside, the heat speeding up his mental processes. _You've gotten out of worse scrapes than this one. Remember the tavern, before? Or the slaying of General Scrapesnout. The rout of the Great Mustelid Armada. The..._ Damask's mind flashed images of battles and deeds -- the ineptitude of vermin was a recurring theme. _What did they always want?_

As Deadtail got up to leave, his interest in the dazed avian waning, a low whisper stopped him. "What's that?"

"Treasure."

Deadtail's eyes narrowed and he stalked back, a wary eye on the bird. "What about treasure?"

"There's treasure, here." The bird's voice grew, hoarse but still strong as he continued, "In this place, I've heard of it, there's trea-"

"Hssst!" Deadtail moved to the pit, baring his teeth. He hopped down, drawing a knife and advancing on the bird. "You're a smooth-talker, to be sure. Now, keep it down and listen. If there's treasure here, I know where it is. So you just make like a good birdie and come with me."

Damask gawked as the rat untied the rope from the main slave line, holding it like a lead. _It worked? He_ really _thinks there's treasure in this fates forsaken hole?_

--------

Deadtail kept a stoic face at the jeers that followed him into Matukhana's hut.

"Look! Th' rat's got a li'l pet!"

"Aww! He's gotta take it fer a walk!"

"I wunner if'n it knows any tricks!"

The great bird-tamer pushed his way into the hut, calling out, "Cap'n, there's somethin' you oughta hear."

The fox looked up from his dinner, a brow raised at the interrupting couple. "Aye? An' who said I'd want to _meet_ my next meal."

Deadtail gave the bird a meaningful prod with the hilt of the dagger, nudging him a step forward. The bird cleared his throat. "Good sir... I'm a minstrel. A collect-"

"I don't need a jester, bird." The fox paused, wiping his mouth and leveling a glare at Damask. "I need supplies and useful slaves. A bird is neither."

"But, your Grace," Damask forced himself to bow low, keeping his eyes on the floor, "I know something of this land..."

The fox leaned back, nodding once to the bird. "Speak quickly, bird."

"There is a great tale," Damask began, "told of old. It was in the epic of MacGregor the Long-Lived, from the--"

A tug on the lead caused the robin to stumble in place. A voice hissed in his ear, "Less history, bird."

"That is -- there's treasure here. At this village."

The fox raised a brow, a half-smirk on his face. "Aye? And I suppose you'd be wanting your freedom for that?"

Damask stuttered, "W-well... I had thought..."

"Bird," Matukhana began, rising as he spoke, "if I freed every woodlander that tried to feed me a line of rubbish, I'd be rowing my own ship."

"But!" The bird spoke up, hopping in agitation, "It's written!" He continued in a singsong, his voice shaky as he improvised a melody, "Beneath the sleeping village lies / A treasure vast, untold. / A golden land of plenty / Err... In a wasteland of gold! A wasteland of gold... a desert! A land of plenty... an oasis!"

Matukhana paused again, scratching beneath his chin with a claw, looking out into the horizon.

_Please, please, please let him--_

"All right, bird, I'll bite. Where is this treasure, exactly?"

Damask only just kept himself from dancing. _Ha! He fell for it! See, Damask, you've still got it, even when you're--_

"Well, Cap'n, I just happen to notice," Deadtail began, giving another sharp tug to the lead. Damask fluttered to keep himself upright as the rat slid in front of him, continuing seamlessly, "that there's a cave behind the waterfall by the oasis. Seems a likely place to find any treasure."

Matukhana's face split into a wide grin, "Did you, now? Well then, my good rat, I suppose we should take our little guide for a visit, eh?"

Deadtail gave an instinctive nod. "Yes, sir." He paused. "Wait... we?"

-------------

Damask found himself back on the slave line within a moment -- the fox Captain had decided to wait until the next morning, leaving the robin time to gather his wits. His neighbors weren't making concentrating easier, mind you. Bellona was pacing so violently it gave erratic jerks to the entire line of chains, tugging at the rope around his leg. Of course, he was getting off lighter than the ground beneath her paws -- which she seemed to hold a grudge against -- slitted eyes fixed on the sand. Her mood, however, was still less transparent than that of the squirrel next to her, who invented a new curse every few moments. Damask closed his eyes.

_Captain Matahoochi thinks I know the location of some mythic treasure. I'm about to go into a cave with a dozen vermin. I'm--_ The bird swayed a moment, holding a wing against his forehead. The world began to get shaky and uncertain, again.

Damask settled down on his haunches again, trying to focus his thoughts. _So many stories... why do I know them?_ How _do I know them? I know I'm supposed to sing about them, but why?_

He was just beginning to feel better when a low growl cut across his reverie, "Oi, ye hellsbego'den birdie. When I get me paws free o' this..."

Damask groaned, removing his wingtip from in front of his beak, "Look, you..." He squinted at the squirrel who was baring his teeth at him. "Sailpaw... Captain Sailpaw--"

"Aye, an' I'll--"

"Sir, please," Bellona interjected, her voice sounding strained. The dormouse was leaning against the side wall of the pit, pressing herself into what little shade existed. She kept sending dark glances at her new chain mate, a stoatess. Her paw instinctively moved to her belt -- reaching for a currently absent dirk.

"No!" The warrior whirled on his companion. "I'll no' be havin' any more o' yer nonsense, _Leftenan'_! He cannae spy! He cannae fight! Now, he swans off t'the leader o'this filth!" Sailpaw spat in the bird's direction, continuing, "Fates know wha' he told 'em. When I'm free, birdie--"

"You'll what?" Damask finally spoke up, pushing himself upright and swaying slightly with the effort, "Thank me? I'm about to lead off the Captain and his best men _into a cave_."

A moment passed before Bellona finished the thought for Damask, her voice barely above a whisper, "An escape, sir."

The necessity of secrecy lost on Sailpaw, he continued in a brash tone, "Oh, aye! While tha' fox gets his claws on--"

"There's nothing!" Damask's interjection was a hiss, which the bird compounded on by taking a hop closer to Sailpaw, doing his best to look fearsome -- beak open in a snarl. "Look, you thick-headed buffoon. There. Is. No--"

"Oy, you!"

Damask took a step back, looking up to the lip of the slave pit, where a weasel guard waved a spear at the pair. The vermin spoke again, "Quit yer yammerin'. And, squirrel, Matukhana gave orders not te touch th' featherbag!"

Damask stepped back, hanging his head as if repentant. He muttered, "Just... don't waste this chance, Captain."

_I couldn't save her before, but maybe this time..._ He glanced up at Bellona, who was watching the guards with an appraising eye. _This time he won't get by so easily. This "Wrath"._


	24. With Makeup Running Down My Face

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 24. With Makeup Running Down My Face...**

_by Eliza_

_Somewhere, in the outer fringes of her mind, Eliza knew that she was unconscious. She didn't mind, really. It was tranquil, rather like resting at the bottom of a placid lake._

After an indeterminable interval, Eliza felt herself beginning to waft up from the depths, floating airily towards consciousness. Like a swimmer rising out of a shallow pool, she rose and burst through the surface, greedily sucking in life by the lungful... 

...And choked as sand rushed into her mouth, filling her throat with earth and dust. Eliza sat up, retching. The pine marten clutched her abdomen, coughing violently to dispel the abrasive grit. She gasped, inhaled, and began coughing again. A mixture of saliva and grainy sand dripped from her chin.

"Ylah!" Her head throbbing, Eliza wiped the filth away with the back of her manacled paw. Chains clinked softly.

The faint metallic jingle fostered a revelation in Eliza's pain-fogged mind. The chains were broken. She was free.

The pine marten's peripheral vision sighted a tarnished axe lying in the sand. It seemed awfully familiar...

Several fine threads of causality began gradually twisting themselves together in her head, eventually winding up as a rather vexing knot of realization.

_Revel. I promised to give her a dress if she'd release me. _

The stoat had evidently kept her end of the bargain, albeit with a side course of chilled revenge. Eliza massaged her pounding skull, fury burning the edges of her vision. _That addle-brained slob! How dare she!_

It was galling enough that the wretch had struck a creature of her standing, but to cravenly hit one that was chained and helpless? Back home, the stoat's hide would be lashed to dollrags.

_By the Hellgates, if that shapeless toad dares to come waddling back here demanding a dress... _

She probably _would_, too. What good would it do her, anyway? Dresses were flimsy, useless things out here.

Eliza forlornly brushed some sand from her skirt. The once-green fabric was rough, stiffened by accumulated filth. The pine marten idly ran her claws along the hem, tracing the ragged after-effects of her trials by sand and seawater. Most of the edging had been positively _savaged._

Perhaps she should just pawn it off to Revel, and be rid of it. Oh, imagine that... She stifled a wicked snicker as she pictured Revel attempting to squeeze her bulk into the dress. Absolute _yards_ of fabric would have to be taken out at the waistline...

She shelved those thoughts for the time being, in favor of more pressing matters. For instance, leaving. She really ought to do that, _now_. It wouldn't be long before the sentry spotted her mangled restraints and got inquisitive.

Eliza's eyes scanned the crumbling rim of the slave ditch. The oafish weasel, perhaps the only living beast less capable of sentry duty than Slug-guard, was nowhere to be seen. The pine marten also couldn't help but notice a few jealous glares from the slave line.

Mindful of the unseen sentry, Eliza elected to take the axe along. She stooped and grasped the weapon, finding it a good deal heavier than she'd anticipated. Stumbling awkwardly, she managed to half-shove, half-toss it up out of the ditch.

She hesitated, listening to the trickle of disturbed sediment. No shouts of alarm were being raised, so, after a final glance about, Eliza gritted her teeth and scrambled up the sloping bank. She stumbled once or twice, hampered by her dragging skirts, but soon crested the ridge and scrambled into the sunshine.

She sat awhile and smirked, basking in a wonderful sense of accomplishment. Let the pathetic rabble wallow in their trench of despair; _she_ was free.

And she was free to go... _where_, exactly? If she stayed here, she would face beatings or death for trying to escape. And she could hardly leave, either. The hellish trek across the sands had nearly killed her; attempting to strike out on her own would be nothing short of suicide.

Eliza sighed, hauling herself upright. Freedom had turned out to be a rather hollow prospect. Her head began throbbing again, adding another layer to the misery.

The pine marten's scarred face locked into an expression of grim determination. She had no idea where to go, or what to do, but the Hellgates would frost over before she'd let herself be locked up like a criminal again.

Grunting, she attempted to lift the axe. How on earth did beasts like Slug-guard manage to _fight_ with these? It was like hauling around her own personal tree trunk.

The pine marten wandered the length of the slave ditch, trying to sort things out. She didn't know where to go. None of the crummy little huts looked particularly hospitable. Besides, they'd probably been commandeered by the horrible searats and corsairs and things.

Faint murmurings burbled up from the pit, interrupting her reverie. Eliza was about to dismiss this mundane chatter, when a word that sounded vaguely like "escape" caused her ear to prick up.

Dropping the axe, the pine marten padded closer to the ditch. As she did, Eliza noticed that the sand was crusted with a long streak of dried blood. The pine marten stepped over it, wrinkling her muzzle in disgust. Probably some pathetic slave had been carved up for sword practice.

In the trench, a brogue filled with bluster and rage was vociferously questioning the need to lend assistance to a "grea'-winded featherbag." A feminine voice which seemed quite low on patience replied something about how they "might never get a better opportunity."

The brogue lapsed into a brief silence. "...Weel, then, Leftenan', how d'ye propose we goo about gettin' free o' these chains, eh? We'll no' be ambushin' anybeastie 'til we get slip o'em."

Eliza cocked a brow. _An ambush on the corsairs? That sounds like a rather delicious prospect. _

"I could get out," lamented the unmistakeable voice of Revel. "If I 'ad that axe, still."

"Aye! But ye dinnae have yer pansy li'dle axe, d'ye, vermin?"

"Sounds like you lot could use some assistance," Eliza found herself saying, radiating all of the false warmth she could muster. She sat casually on the edge of the pit, accidentally-on-purpose flicking some dirt at Revel.

A battle-scarred dormouse looked balefully up at her. "What do you want, marten?"

"The same thing that you want," Eliza said, gesturing to her manacles. "I've got a score to settle with these putrid corsairs, and I thought that we might be able to help each other. I set you free, you fight the corsairs. Everybeast wins."

"I want my dress," Revel piped up.

"What d'_ye_ ken o' fightin', lassie?" snarled a burly squirrel.

Eliza tossed him a piteous smile. "I know you won't be doing any without my help."

"I dinnae need help froom ye, vermin!" he spat.

"Captain," the dormouse grated, "We've made absolutely no headway on our own, and we are _rapidly_ running out of time. I hate to say it, but if she wants to help, I suggest we let her."

"An' why shood we trust a vermin, eh, Bell? Tha' bloody rat turned oot t'be nae guid a'tal."

"Do you have a better alternative, Captain?"

Captain Claptrap glared daggers into the ground.

"Then it's settled," said the Leftenant. "Now, marten, how exactly do you intend to help us?"

Eliza smiled brightly. "I've got an axe up here. We'll slice through the chains, and then you can set about doing whatever it is that you plan on doing. Sound good?"

Without bothering to wait for the Leftenant's answer, Eliza turned tail and went to retrieve the axe. With a grunt, she hefted the cumbersome weapon.

"Oy!"

Eliza whirled, clutching the axe in what she hoped was a menacing fashion.

_Curses._ It was the blubbery guard, levelling a spear at her. Ale foam dripped from his whiskers as he yelled, "Drop that axe, wretch!"

"Fine," she glowered. The axe hit the sand as Eliza raised her paws in surrender. She couldn't have fought him with it, anyway. It was difficult enough to hold on to the ruddy thing; swinging it with any accuracy was out of the question.

"'Ow'd you get outta that pit?" the guard snarled, taking a step forward. His spear point hovered a hairs-breadth from Eliza's stomach.

"It's a secret," she said flatly. No point in wasting diplomacy on this fool.

"Oh, is that so?" He took another fateful step, completely unaware that he'd just entered slapping range.

"Yes," Eliza replied, and swung. Pent-up rage and a heavy manacle caromed off of the weasel's face with a dull _Thonk!_

The weasel howled, clutching his jaw. Ignoring the pain flaring up her arm, Eliza planted a footpaw into the sentry's fleshy belly, kicking him backwards into the ditch.

There were a few cries of alarm from the slaves, a rustling of chains, and then a horrid, rasping gurgle.

Eliza grasped her searing wrist, biting down on her lip. Hot tears of pain beaded in the corner of her eyes.

_I have to go. More vermin will come, they'll wonder where he's gone..._ Eliza grasped the axe handle, wincing. Stumbling a bit, she clumsily dragged it down the bank.

The weasel lay in a broken heap in the sand, horrid red marks encircling his throat. Captain Claptrap hailed her sarcastically. "Oh, fine job with tha' guard, lassie! Only, next time, d'ye think ye could mebbe _no'_ make enough noise t'wake Dark Fores'?"

Eliza was too sore and wrung out to craft a witty response. She tossed the axe down, and snatched up the fallen weasel's spear. "Turn around."

"I'm no' trustin' me back t'ye, vermin!"

That was absolutely the last straw. "Listen to me, you brainless stump!" she hissed. "I'm not strong enough to swing that stupid axe. You're the only one tied with rope instead of chains, so as luck would have it, you're the only one I can actually get free. Once you're loose, you can use the axe and swing it about with your great big lolloping muscles, and save the rest of them."

"Fine," the Captain muttered darkly as he rolled to expose his bound paws. "But ye'll regret cheekin' me like tha', ah promise ye."

An eternity of tedious sawing later, the ungrateful squirrel was free.

A fearsome light danced in Claptrap's eyes as he seized the axe. "Hauld out tha' chain."

"Aren't you gonna cover 'em up again, to 'ide the sound?" Revel asked, looking to Eliza.

"Nae time fer that. We have t'move," said the squirrel. _Schrring!_ The axehead connected, shearing the links.

Physical limitations and a severe need for haste prevented the fugitives from liberating each individual beast. Instead, the loud-mouthed Captain opted to cut the chains so that the slaves were divided into groups of three.

"Wait, wha' about th'beasts further down th'line?" enquired a young hare, scratching a ridiculously-proportioned ear.

The dormouse shook her head. "They're halfway to Dark Forest, Giddy. No sense dragging them along for this, they'd only bog us down."

"Burr!" a portly mole shivered as Claptrap cleaved his restraints. "You'm nearly chopped moi diggen claws off!"

The hare chuckled. "Hah! We'll use it t'chop those corsairs' claws off soon."

"Aye," the Leftenant nodded. "But we'll need a lot more than one axe if we want to stand a chance. We have to find our weapons."

"I know where weapons is," Revel piped up. "Seen 'em in a 'ut."

Captain and Leftenant exchanged doubtful glances.

No better options were forthcoming, so off they went. Revel's guidance was addled at best, but the motely assortment eventually found themselves staring at a ramshackle hut.

"Are you sure this is it, stoat?" the Leftenant asked coolly.

Revel nodded. "There's lots of 'em in there."

"Oh, aye." Captain Claptrap said, pushing the door open.

"Weapons" was definitely not the word Eliza would have used to describe the heap of rusting armaments. Half of the things looked like they'd snap off at the handle.

"My hammer's not here," whined a squirrel, kicking sand listlessly.

"T'Hellgates with yer hammer, lassie!" thundered Claptrap. "Grab yerself a blade, 'less, o' course, ye fancy takin' on the vermin with yer bare paws!"

"Captain!" the Leftanent snapped. "This is a very bad time to be dressing down our allies, don't you think?"

The muscular squirrel looked as if he would burst with rage. "We dinnae have time fer this! We need t'head fer the caves!"

Eliza didn't like the sound of that. "Caves?"

The goofish hare seemed to mistake her disgust for confusion, and proceeded to explain the plan to her. There was a robin, who was leading Captain Matukhana and his guards willy-nilly about the cave, and they were going to show up, catch the vermin unawares, and save the day.

"'Course," the hare admonished, "We'll need t'be careful sneakin' o'er there. Cannae let th'vermin see us, or we're in deeper trouble than Matthias in th'Adder's hole."

_Oh, they would be, wouldn't they? There were only sixteen of them, counting her. If anything went wrong, they'd be in rather a lot of trouble..._

Like the first tendril of a dark creeping vine, a new idea was beginning to form in Eliza's mind. One where the chances of her ending up as a corpse wouldn't be quite so high.

She could send the minions storming into the caves, waving rusty implements in their puny paws, and let them ambush Captain Brush-for-brains and his crew. With any luck, the element of surprise would give the revolting revolters an edge over the deplorable sea rubbish. And, of course, in the midst of such an awful brawl, who'd notice her sneaking quietly out the rear?

Once she'd allowed sufficient time for the battle to wind down, it would be a simple task to dart back to the Oasis and raise the alarm. She would claim that they had overwhelmed the guard, and, not trusting a vermin, left her behind, unconscious. She even had the bruised head to prove it.

After the pitiful resistance had been slaughtered by vermin reinforcements -- the ambushers themselves having been ambushed -- an ominous silence would descend upon the oasis.

With their exalted Captain dead, the vermin would dodder about aimlessly, giving Eliza a beautiful degree of freedom. In such dire times, who could possibly remember one bitten face? Who could possibly hold a grudge against the wonderfully heroic damsel who had risked her life to save their Captain from an ambush?

Without a proper leader to do the thinking, or slaves to do their dirty work, how would the middle-tier brigands survive? Such a horrid turn of events, combined with a few carefully-dropped hints, would surely be sufficient to convince the grog-swilling blaggards that their fortunes would be better served elsewhere. Indeed, they would probably jump at the opportunity to find a place where sandstorms and starvation were naught but unpleasant memories, and a clever pine marten could slip away and find passage home.

It would require a phenomenal amount of luck, but a chance was a chance, no matter how slim. It was, in a dark and treacherous way, so beautiful. So elegant.

_Like a dance_, she thought. _A delightful dance of deceit._

Of course, choreographing such an elaborate betrayal would require a few contingencies. No matter. Her mind was agile...

"You should grab yourself a blade, marten," the Leftenant interrupted, fishing a crooked dirk from the pile.

Eliza had no intention of actually fighting, but she picked up a small dagger, just to be on the safe side. She was examining it in the dim light, when there was a tug at her sleeve.

"When do I get my dress?" Revel asked earnestly.

_Never_, said the voice in Eliza's head. _You can get fair payment from somebeast, or you can snigger like a ninny and bash them over the head. Not both._

She would have said it, too, if the Leftenant hadn't been staring down that judicious nose at them.

Instead, Eliza put on a _delightful_ veneer of a smile and gingerly patted Revel on the shoulder. "I'll get it for you later, Revel."

The stoat nodded, and picked up a rusty cutlass. "Not too much later, I 'ope," she said with what could have been a meaningful smile.


	25. A Matter of Trust

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 25. A Matter of Trust**

_by Bellona_

_"Run, rabbit. Run.  
Dig that hole. Forget the sun."_

"Keep quiet," Sailpaw commanded in a low whisper as Bell tugged her chainmates up and down the line of escapees, showing them how to hold their chains to keep them from rattling. The weapons hut they'd managed to find proved quite effective as a planning ground, though it was a bit close. "We'll have t'travel acrooss open ground t'get t'those caves. It's high morn with the cap'n flown away, though, so I reckon the wee vermin beasties'll be takin' an early break. If luck is on oor side, we'll make it t'the waterfall an' beyond with no' a guard the wiser."

"But, what if we _are_ spotted?" asked the tough-looking squirrelmaid who had complained about her hammer.

"Kill the beast before he can shout if you're close enough," Bell replied directly. "If not, run."

The stoat manacled next to her bristled noticeably at this and growled softly. The dormouse felt her fur bristling right back. Why the vermin had seen fit to replace her perfectly respectable chainmate with this... _No time for that now. She'll have to do. Like the pine marten._

= ~ = ~ =

Bell took the lead, cracking open the door to the weapons hut and surveying the camp. She kept her eyes wide -- the harsh glare of the sun reflected on too bright sand hurt, but she didn't want to miss anything important -- and swiveled her ears. A few voices emanated from the surrounding huts, but nobeast was in her immediate line of sight.

"Well?" the marteness hissed from behind. "Are we just going to stand here all day?"

The dormouse didn't bother to answer such an impetuous beast and instead pushed the door fully open. She held up an arm, then pointed it forward clearly in the direction she wanted to take. It was circuitous, granted, but she had her reasons. Those huts, there, had been filled with torchlight just two nights ago when she'd first attempted escape from the vermin encampment.

Five sets of three escapees and one pine marten stole across the blistering sand, chains held tight in sweating paws. They passed a fox snoozing lazily in the shade of one of the huts, rounded a cluster of palms, then struck out for the waterfall pool.

Bell had almost breathed a sigh of relief at their good fortune when there was a cry and she was dragged off her footpaws and laid flat on her back. Grimacing, the dormouse flipped over onto her paws and glared at her chainmates. The stoat looked mildly dazed and their third companion, a mole native to the Oasis, looked absolutely horrified.

"Oi bee'm sorry, miz! Oi bee'm gurtly sorry! Oi tripped an'-"

"Up. Now!" Bell gritted through clenched teeth and stood, reaching out to help him up while another chained trio assisted the portly stoatmaid.

With luck, nobeast would have paid any mind to the-

"Hey!" a squeaky voice accused. The dormouse turned around sharply and drew her dirk. There, just out of range, stood a skinny male stoat with a claw pointed dramatically in their direction. "What are you doing?"

The stoatess chained next to her began waving at him and smiling, opening her mouth to reply.

Bell quirked an eyebrow and yanked Revel's arm down, cutting her off mid-"hallo". _Not the sharpest blades in the set, these two._

"Run!" Sailpaw gave the order just as he had two nights ago. The escapees charged for the caves behind the waterfall, leaving the vermin shouting angrily at their dust.

= ~ = ~ =

"I can hear them," an old hare muttered as they proceeded quickly through the first tunnel, raising a paw to his gray ear for emphasis. The close stone walls magnified every breath, clack of a footclaw, and rattle of a chain so loudly that Bell wondered how the creature could hear anything at all over the din. They might be able to achieve some level of stealth if they went back holding their chains properly, but after reaching the dark of the caves, a number of beasts had foolishly let their paws loosen in relief. Now they would pay the price. "Those vermin. They're not but a stone's throw behind, wot."

"Mind the echoes," Bell cautioned. "They can trick the ears."

"Quite right, miss! But a hare who's ears have grown up and lived underground the past 50 seasons can account for these things, I think," the lapine replied with a wry smile that the dormouse could just make out in the dimness. Holes in the ceiling and wall provided minimal light so their journey was not a completely disorganized tromp through the dark.

"Why would you live underground?" the marteness asked with a sneer of disgust.

"Safer," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Oi! I see 'em!" The shout came from back the way they came and Bell froze, staring around with the others. A torch illuminated a small contingent of vermin marching toward them with the troublesome stoat at its head. A sudden shudder shook the tunnel throwing everybeast off his footpaws.

"What was that about safety, idiot?" the marten demanded as she scrambled to right herself.

"Just a bit of a rumble to get us started!" the hare shot back as everybeast struggled to find his balance after the shake. "Now, go!" He waved the other escapees away as he looked to one chainmate, then the other. Each one, an otter and a shrew, nodded in turn.

_Oh, Fates. Don't! Not this early._

"You don't have to. We can still-" Bell began, fumbling for both a viable alternative and footing, but the older creature sliced through her protests like a sharp blade through a wildcat's belly.

"Hah! 'Twould be an honor and a pleasure, miss!" He flashed a ferocious grin. "We'll draw you out some time to get lost before those vermin are on you, wot! Go'n find your friend and kill off that fox captain for me, eh? Never did get to see my lad run off to join the Fire Mountain because of that blaggard and his crew capturing me. Dead inconvenient. Right then, you lads, let's give it the old what for!"

"Aye!"

"Thank you." Bell steeled herself and nodded to the brave creatures. She would have insisted on taking their place herself, but she doubted her chainmates would be keen on the notion of a last stand. No sense in having unwilling fighters.

"Wait! Are you mad?" the marten interjected, her ears laid back in consternation, but her eyes narrowed in…anger? Annoyance? "You're just going to run off to die?" The dormouse sensed more to that sentence, but the marten had bitten her tongue before giving whatever scheme she had cooked up away.

"Nay," Sailpaw intoned. "They're runnin' off so _you_ c'n live, lassie."

The hare winked. "Righto! See you in Dark Forest, then, wot wot! Blood'n'vinegaaar!"

As the perilous beasts sprinted to meet the vermin, Bell and the others turned and fled farther into the dark caves. The screams behind made her footpaws feel both terribly heavy and disturbingly light. When other beasts acted so selflessly…

_That won't happen to Damask!_ She would make certain of that.

= ~ = ~ =

Some twenty odd twists and turns later, Bell and the rest found themselves panting and resting against the water-cut walls. They had found a relatively large patch of light and were trying to decide how best to proceed now that they had escaped immediate recapture. The mole manacled to her had introduced himself as Rugger and claimed to have an intimate knowledge of the caves.

"Oi doan't roightly know whot 'causered 'ee tumblin' o' rocks, but it bee'm loike that fer seasons naow," Rugger explained.

Rugger had grown up in the Oasis, he should know. Bell removed her concerns over the quake from her conscious thoughts. If a mole said something underground wasn't of consequence, she trusted the judgement.

"No 'arm, though," the mole continued. "Naow, Oi reckon 'ee burdy wudd take 'ee varmints every which way, but there bee'm only one place Oi knows where all 'ee tunnels lead, burr aye. Th'Pitcher Mount'in."

" 'Pitcher Mount'in'?" Giddy parroted back in confusion. Bell had to admit the mole's accent was giving her a bit of trouble. She had known one mole in her life and he had adopted a Highlander brogue early on to fit in with his companions.

"Picture Mountain, he means," the hammerless squirrelmaid -- _Birch._ That was what the hedgehog had named her right before getting run through. _And me just watching…_ -- translated. "Dunno what that is, though."

"Fancy lot, you. 'S a picture of a mountain," the stoatess said with a derisive snort. "Of _course_."

"Don't be a fool," the marten huffed, her amicable façade fast fading. "It obviously means a mountain with pictures _on_ it."

"Pictures like that?" Bell had been puzzling over the blobs on the cracked wall above her companions' heads as they squabbled and now she could make out the image of a rabbit stabbing a fox with… _A fish?_ Her brows knit together as her gaze travelled along a series of paintings, each raising the fur on the nape her neck a little more with the audacity of their implications.

A squirrel and weasel shook paws over a banquet table. Otters and rats swam together in a pool. A hedgehog lifted a barrel with the help of a ferret. A mouse happily watched over several vermin children.

Without knowing when it had happened, the dormouse found herself on her footpaws, heart beginning to pound and ears filling with the thrum of a body called to fight. She laid a paw on her dirk.

"Leftenan'." Sailpaw said sharply.

_They had made a pact with the nearby vermin tribe because there was nobeast else left to turn to. They seemed agreeable enough. Nashald had tried to exterminate them, too._

The dormouse drew her blade.

"Leftenan'!" More insistent now as Sailpaw rose to match her.

_She found one of Freyr's pots first, painted with the most beautiful scene of a mouse couple watching a sunset. But it wasn't finished. It never would be because the potter was in pieces on the floor like so many of his creations. The one part of her life untouched by war lay shattered at her footpaws. The vermin weren't to blame. They only did what came naturally. So, she would do what came naturally, too._

"_Bellona Littlebrush_!" Sailpaw thundered and Bell stopped immediately, her dirk a hairsbreadth away from the stoat's muzzle. The vermin's teeth were bared and her eyes scrunched in a feral snarl. The dormouse pulled away in time to avoid losing a paw or doing more serious harm to the creature. Sailpaw stepped forward and cuffed the mustelid's ear hard enough to rock her head to one side.

"None o' tha', now!" the Captain chittered. "An' away with yer frog-sticker, Bell. Nae need t'be givin' tha' beastie a trim when we shood be plannin' t'save tha' worthless spy o'yers."

The dormouse became uncomfortably aware of the creatures staring at the spectacle she'd made of herself while she tried to regain her composure. She sheathed her weapon and slumped back down.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," she muttered, not bothering to address the stoatess who was still recovering from the squirrel's smack. Where had _that_ come from? The paintings were just nonsense, anyway. And attacking a beast she was chained to? _Stop acting stupid!_ she chided herself. The present was infinitely more important than the past. At least the former she could change.

"Rugger." Bell shifted her gaze from the floor to the now-wary mole. "Lead us to the Picture Mountain."

"Yes'm!"

= ~ = ~ =

Once they had a destination in mind, Rugger led them with ease through the winding passages, muttering about how they need to mind their heads here, step over the crack there, the old tunnels just weren't holding up like they used to. When they started hearing echoing voices from up ahead, Sailpaw called a brief halt, and again Bell assisted everybeast in holding his chains to mute the rattling. They slunk forward with the whisper of scratching claws to mark their passage.

The mouth of the tunnel opened onto an enormous cave with large pools of light illuminating the room from the ceiling where hundreds of stalactites hung. Some hung as thin as worms while others could rival a full-grown oak in girth. The counterparts to these were scattered about the floor of the cave like spikes in a pit.

Just offset from the center of the room rose the largest of the stalagmites. Reaching well above two badgers in height, its polished surface rioted color in the beige world of sandstone.

Bell consciously willed herself not to look at the magnificent monstrosity and focused on the group of vermin huddled about its base. Plus one robin. Damask flitted and fluttered awkwardly, obviously tethered, as he occupied the vermin with some lie or another.

"What now?" Giddy wondered close by.

"We'll charge 'em. Take 'em by surprise." Sailpaw nodded at his plan, but turned to look at Bell when she said nothing. He sighed. "A'righ'. Wha' were ye thinkin', Leftenan'?"

"The terrain's too irregular to risk a frontal assault, sir," the dormouse replied without looking at him, her mind already sifting through alternatives. "I suggest moving forward silently and launching an assault as they are heading off to their next destination. There are only three tunnels along the wall here, so I suggest we concentrate our forces around the two largest ones. Damask will likely enjoy a grand exit." Her mouth twitched into a smirk, but she sobered again almost immediately as she heard the bird's pitch heighten in either fear or pain… or both.

"Righ'." Sailpaw agreed. "Giddy, ye coom with me an' we'll stake oot tha' tunnel o'er there." He pointed to the largest of the tunnel mouths where a deep fissure ran from the top of it toward the roof. "Bell," his tone softened. "I'll see ye home, lassie."

"As always, si--"

"Oi fink I c'n see light ahead!" A voice hollered, making the escapees stiffen and the creatures in the cave turn sharply. "Hey, it's 'em slaves!"

Caught between two enemy forces, Bell did the only sensible thing she could: drew her weapon and prayed that the Fates had mercy rather than the sick sense of humor they'd been displaying of late. As if in answer, another rumble sounded ominously through the cavern, this one accompanied by more violent shaking that did not let up. It was just as she watched a stalactite break free of the ceiling and gore one of the vermin near the Picture Mountain that the dormouse began to appreciate her position.

Maybe the Fates had a good sense of humor, after all.


	26. Canary in a Coal Mine

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 26. Canary in a Coal Mine**

_by Deadtail_

He didn't mind the dark. Outside, the hordebeasts among whom he was trying so hard to fit in would mock his "choice" of ally. Inside, he had a chance at impressing those who really mattered. But with Matukhana, the Whirlwind, and several others joining Deadtail in the cave just beyond the waterfall, it was crowded. At least the bird didn't take up that much space.

"Right, you two." Matukhana passed the end of Damask's tether to a weasel, nodding at a stoat as he did so. "Haul the bird up a ways with you, see if he can tell what's beyond those rocks."

"That seems a bit hasty, does it not?" Damask replied. "This art could be of use—mayhap it represents some route we must travel to reach the treasure."

There were more markings than Deadtail had first noticed, mostly of various creatures. The beasts formed groups of two or three, and seemed to have been placed without regard for species. Nothing about it could have signaled a message..._to any reasonable beast_, Deadtail mentally corrected himself.

"Mouse, Otter, Rat, Stoat. Mors? No, 'tis an ermine! More...but more what, more what?" Damask fluttered as the weasel dragged him forward.

"D'you think a smudgy mouse with an acorn is gonna help us find the loot, featherbag?" Deadtail turned his attention to the pile of rocks. Reaching for a small stone wedged at paw height, he set it down on the cave floor. He grabbed another, careful not to choose any of the truly large obstacles. They were the real barrier, but he knew better than to yank the wrong one.

Rath approached Deadtail. "It'll take a couple seasons at that rate," the ferret noted.

"D'you have any better ideas?" Deadtail snapped. "Preferably some that don't involve this whole pile crashin' down on us?"

Rath seemed to nod as he paced along the pile, realizing the nature of the problem. He turned around at the edge of the cave and walked back to the group of small rocks that the rat had managed to extricate. "This oughta work."

He selected one of the rocks and walked to the opposite edge of the cave, in front of the waterfall. "You'll want to get out of the way."

Deadtail pressed himself against a painted wall, with the other hordebeasts settling in beside or opposite him. Damask fluttered above them all, still trying to make sense of the smudges.

Rath shifted his weight to his front paw, then leaned back before throwing the rock towards the pile. It hit in the middle, dislodging one of the larger rocks and causing a few of the highest to fall down. "Too short," he judged, dashing forward to pick up a second small rock. He threw it from a closer distance, and that one flew true; the topmost rocks fell either down or deeper into the cave. The resultant slope was shorter and shallower. "Can you climb this?"

"Better than before," said Matukhana. "We'll give it a shot."

Deadtail had never been much of a climber, and lagged behind the strong corsairs and the skillful fighter. While he was certainly used to bringing up the rear, it wasn't quite as comfortable in that context. As soon as they got to the top of the rocks, he would have no more information that the others didn't.

He didn't stop to admire what passed for a view once he reached that summit, but concentrated on the descent. It was tiresome, but no more straining than the ascent. Once they had reached solid ground, he was able to see just how little there was to see. The rocks had brought the bottom of a tunnel a whisker closer to the ceiling, and there seemed to be no place to go but forward.

"You know where you're going, bird?" Matukhana demanded.

"Alas, the rhyme did not give very clear directions," said Damask. "Were it to be clear, any bumbler could have made off with the treasure."

The fox sighed. "That's our luck, eh? Don't worry, you can still lead the way. You two, hold him close."

"Ah...yes. Perhaps I should double-check the paintings? They might be more useful now that we know what's ahead."

"What did you expect to find but a dark tunnel?" Deadtail retorted. "Lead on."

"Of course."

At that point, Deadtail was perfectly happy to bring up the rear. Following a bird, after all, would do him no good had the ground been hazardous. He followed, first Rath's silhouette, and then just the sound of the ferret's paws against the floor.

Some time later—he could not tell how long—the paws fell silent. "Rath?" he whispered. "Captain?"

"We've hit a dead end," said the robin. "A false trail, to throw off those who just arrived by accident."

"And where were we supposed to turn?" asked Matukhana.

"It looked like there was another branch perhaps a third of the way in, but I'd rather not have pursued it just then—were we to start taking _every_ turn, we'd never find our way out. Never fear, I remember the way. Just turn around, we'll be back there soon enough."

"I didn't notice it on the way in," Deadtail called. It happened to be true. "Someone else should come back in front."

"I'd dearly love the opportunity, but that seems impractical at this time."

The rat did not argue too long. He was less concerned about being the frontmost vermin on the return trip; had there been some trap for his paws, he'd already have come across it. They retraced their steps, though he did not notice whatever crack in the walls the robin had seen and was already past it by the time Matukhana called "Halt!"

But this worked out to his benefit; the vermin closer to the second tunnel could enter it first, and he was glad to follow once again. It was steeper and harder to navigate, but they slowly made their way through the darkness.

He flinched at noise, but it was only a sulking voice. "Are you sure you know where yer headed?" A weasel, by the sounds of it.

"As I've told you," Damask continued irritably, "it's in everybeast's best interest to follow these routes as far as they go. If you see another pathway that looks promising, you need but mention it. I'm sure the Captain can—"

"Command his own troops, thank you," Matukhana interrupted.

"We should've brought food," whined a stoat, but it was a halfhearted complaint. No one dared ask how long they would remain in the tunnels.

Deadtail felt hungry, but tried not to dwell on it. It was a trick of the mind, nothing more—without light to gauge the passage of time, he'd blow things out of proportion. Surely they'd realize the need to leave soon enough. They wouldn't dare proceed any further in—but no, he caught sight of Damask's wing tilting as if to round another corner.

Caught sight?

Curious in spite of himself, he took another step forward.


	27. ANOTHER Zubat?

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 27. ANOTHER Zubat?!?**

_by Venril_

Venril groaned as he rolled over under his thin blanket. He was still surpised at the ability of the desert, so hot during the day, to become quite cold at night. The skinny mustelid felt cramped, sore and uncomfortable, and it was becoming obvious that he wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep.

_Besides, might as well set a good example for the other hordebeasts by being up bright and early._ Venril almost snorted at the thought. Fat chance. The other hordebeasts didn't look at him as an example of anything other than a joke. It was truly disheartening how many times he had wound up as a laughingstock for them.

_Let's see…there was that first day when they were betting on when I would die, the time I dived for cover and stated yelling at them to throw their spears when a bird swooped down at me, the time a bug got into my tunic during the night and I jumped up and started yelling, the time I got groped by that stupid drunk in the tavern and Verand had to rescue me..._ Taking stock of his shortcomings in the area of being taken seriously was even more disheartening.

Giving a frustrated sigh, the stoat got out from under the blanket, and put everything back into his rucksack after getting dressed. The tunic he wore had been clean to start out with, but he could feel the grit of sand between his fur and the fabric, and the once-crisp color of the shirt had been dulled somewhat. The blasted sand had succeeded in getting into his pack, into his pockets and into his fur, and the stoat was becoming increasingly resigned to the impossibility of keeping himself or his equipment as clean as they would normally be.

Venril stepped outside the hut where he had been sleeping, fastening his sword and dagger belt. That was about as far as he got before the uncertainty of what a captain was supposed to do this early in the morning settled in. Should he go check on his hordebeasts, or even wake them up and make them exercise? They needed to keep their skills, such as they were, sharp, but even Venril had enough sense to know the risks of alienating them when he was so far away from horde discipline. The stoat was still considering his options when his attention was diverted by a sudden cry followed by a clanking _whumph_ sound.

Frowning, Captain Venril was walking over to investigate when he heard the sound of subdued molespeech. ""Oi bee'm sorry, miz! Oi bee'm gurtly sorry! Oi tripped an'-"

Venril's frown deepened as he picked up speed, rushing to a vantage point overlooking one of the paths away from the village. He was shocked to see a large cluster of chained beasts, mostly woodlander, trying to stealthily make their way from the camp. Mustering his most commanding tone of authority, the stoat issued a challenge to the wayward woodlanders.

"Hey! What are you doing?" It sounded a bit silly even to him. This feeling was compounded when one of the escapees, the pregnant female stoat, actually smiled and began waving at him until her rodent companion yanked her arm down.

_Why that little..._ Venril may not have been the world's best horde captain, but he had enough pride in himself to not want to stand for the outright mockery of a _slave_! Giving a snarl that would have been more threatening from most other beasts, the stoat stormed into the nearest hut.

"Wake up, everybeast! The slaves are escaping!" Venril jostled the vermin in the hut awake, earning a yowl of protest from a fox as he accidentally stomped on a red-furred tail.

"Come on! The slaves are escaping! We need to stop them, or else it's going to be us doing the rowing!" The stoat recognized the wildcat, Keane, who he had met in the tavern. "You too, cat! We need all the beasts we can get to chase them down! The slaves are escaping!"

"Heard you the first time, Venril," the feline muttered. Venril didn't respond to the lack of decorum, however, because he was busy dashing into the next hut, where Verand, damn him, was already awake and rallying the hordebeasts in the hut for the pursuit.

The woodlanders were already well on their way to the caves when Venril and his disorganized band finally began to chase them in earnest. The pre-dawn air was still cool enough to allow them to run with minimal discomfort, although the sand gave them what was rather unsatisfactory footing. They finally reached the entrance to the caves. However, shortly after the group managed to enter the cave, the entire structure began to shake and rumble, knocking several vermin off balance and causing others to freeze in place. Even after the tremor subsided, the vermin stood in place, many of them looking around in confusion. That's when Venril heard something he could have happily lived without ever hearing.

"Blood'n'vinegaaar!" Venril barely had time to shout out half of a warning before a hare, a shrew and an otter, bound together by lengths of chain, came barreling down the tunnel, blades ready. Though outnumbered, their sheer ferocity as they rushed right into the thick of the vermin created a considerable amount of confusion as several hordebeasts fell to their blades.

Venril felt a fog creeping up through his mind, a fearful uncertainty of what to do, coupled with the temptation to just step aside and let the professionals handle this. But then he gathered all the willpower he could muster and shoved those thoughts away. Pressing into the crowd, he saw that the otter was currently locked in a life or death struggle with a weasel from the crew, his back exposed. Venril pulled out his saber and stabbed as hard as he could at the otter's lower back. The otter howled in pain, shoved the weasel away and turned on Venril, giving a bellow as he rushed the stoat.

Venril dropped his sword, still embedded in the otter, and pulled his dagger as quickly as his paws would allow, almost getting it out before the otter's full weight slammed him to the ground. The powerful woodlander wrapped his paws around Venril's narrow neck, but he made the fatal mistake of ignoring Venril's paw, which now grasped his dagger. Freeing it from its sheath, he stabbed the otter in the side once, then twice, then one more time, the knife sliding in with a sickening noise each time. The otter's eyes bulged as he collapsed off Venril.

"Sc--scrawny liddle v-vermin…c-couldn'a….even---" the otter never got to finish his sentence as his life force ebbed away.

Venril didn't even notice as the hare joined his two companions in death. Kneeling by the side of the otter, there was only one thing going through his head as the stoat's voice nearly broke with relief.

"IkilledhimIkilledhimIkilled---Seasons! I killed one! I got a woodlander!" The stoat's relief turned to joy. A happy little ball of pride welled up in him. He wasn't a total failure after all! He had fought a woodlander, and now the woodlander was dead and he was alive. He was a real vermin now!

"Captain, are you going to stare at him some more, or are we going to go catch the slaves?" Leave it to Verand to bring Venril back to earth. The stoat was so worked up he barely even noticed the decided edge of sarcasm in the ferret's voice, and couldn't bring himself to care.

"Right! After them!" Venril continued to lead the hordebeasts down the tunnel, trying not to grin. _I'm a real hordebeast now!_

It took them a long time to catch up to the woodlanders. The tunnels were winding and narrow, difficult to navigate, and the slaves had made good use of the delay bought by their three dead comrades. Twice during the pursuit the vermin column slowed or halted as tremors shook the cave. The second time around, the vermin seemed especially uncertain. But Venril was not going to let his chance at actually succeeding slip away because Mother Nature was in a bad mood. Urging the vermin forward, the stoat remained near the front of the column. Not the very front, as even in his excited state he had enough sense not to do that, but certainly not as far from the action as he had tried to be the first time he had gone into the field with his hordebeasts.

Deeper and deeper into the cave the vermin traveled, rushing past a set of cave paintings that would have attracted much more curiosity from the vermin had they not been so close to their prey. Finally, they found the slaves mustered in a large cavern full of stalactites. A cheer went up from the vermin as they began to charge towards the now defensive slaves, but that cheer quickly faltered as another rumble, louder than any that had come before, shook the cave and everybeast in it. Venril yelped as a stalactite slammed to the floor only a few feet ahead of him, and gasped in horror at the sight of an unfortunate weasel who screamed and collapsed to the floor, a stalactite embedded in his chest.

What had begun as a charge quickly turned into a game of "avoid-the-deadly-projectiles" as vermin and woodlander alike began to search desperately for any sort of shelter they could find from the death raining from above. The rumbling in the earth only intensified as slaves and crewbeasts alike fell, transfixed by skewers of stone.

"Move to the back of the cave! There aren't as many there!" yelled a dormouse, the one Venril had seen leading the woodlanders earlier. Everybeast, woodlander and vermin alike, decided to try to obey this directive, but it was a perilous run to the comparative safe area. Venril barely leapt out of the way of a falling stalactite, stumbling and falling before being kicked back down, either by accident or design, by a squirrel running in the same direction. The stoat struggled to his feet and kept running.

Meanwhile, near the entrance of the cavern, there was a thunderous sound as the stone wall of the cave completely collapsed, sealing the entrances to the cavern. The rumbling spread spiderweb fissures began to appear in the ceiling of the gave. Venril had just reached a mixed clump of vermin and woodlanders when a large pile of dust, grit and pulverized rock fell from the ceiling and floored him.

The stoat wasn't sure how long he lay in a daze under the rubble. The next memory he had was of hearing the sounds of beasts fighting to extricate themselves or their companions from the cave-in. He could also feel the movement of the beasts next to him as they, too, began to struggle to escape. Venril began to stir as well, digging himself out of the pile of debris that had fallen on him and the beasts in front of him. The rubble had been enough to bruise the stoat but not to break any bones. Struggling to his feet, the stoat dusted off his filthy tunic.

Around the cavern, beasts were starting to emerge from the wreckage. Venril recognized Verand, the wildcat, Keane, Rath, and several others. However, he was shocked to see just how many horde and crewbeasts were still under the rubble. Even worse, the vermin were not alone. To his disappointment, Venril saw several slaves rising out of the wreckage as well, their present condition making them look downright sinister.

At the far end of the cavern, he could see an angry squirrel and the dormouse who had told everyone to run to the rear of the cave. The dormouse was pointing to the front of the cavern, and Venril's eyes followed her paw. His heart sank as he saw that, as bad as the rear of the cavern was, the front was far worse, with heavy rubble and large chunks of rock blocking the way they had come in. The squirrel made several wide gestures, and became increasingly agitated, while the dormouse tried to calm him down. Suddenly, the squirrel looked past his companion, and gave a snarl as he saw Venril.

"Leftenan'! I ken we've soom vermin beasties still breathin' in the cave with us. I reckon we'd best be rid o'em afore we goo anywhere else." The squirrel and several others pulled their weapons and tried to wade through the wreckage towards the vermin, who also armed themselves. Ironically, the wreckage of the cavern prevented any immediate bloodshed, as combatants had to struggle to get within striking distance of one another. Before they could go any further, the dormouse raised her voice.

"Stow those arms, everybeast, we've got more pressing things to deal with." The woodlanders immediately paused, hesitating to press on. Several hordebeasts glanced at Venril (or Verand, much to the stoat's chagrin) and then themselves stopped in place.

The squirrel wheeled on her. "Bell, have ye gone daft? Wha' could be worse'n a horde o' vermin standin' within strikin' distance an' no' a s'ard run through 'em?!?"

"Captain, we're deep underground with many of our comrades trapped and possibly dead. We have no way out that I know of. If we fight now, we won't have enough beasts left to dig or find an alternative route out. The more dead, the lower everybeast's chance for survival."

Venril swallowed a mixture of grit and saliva, and spoke up. "Err, I think she's right." Vermin turned to stare at him, and he winced a little bit, but did not back down. "I see only one way out of here, that little tunnel off to the side. If we fought, whoever won--well, we would win, right?--would probably be injured and almost alone. With all of us here, we can dig out a lot faster when we have a chance, and it will be easier to explore and see if we can find a road to the surface."

The dormouse nodded in approval. "You're not as dumb as you look, stoat. State your name and rank."

"Captain Venril, from Baron Proklyan's Army."

"A captain?" Venril bristled as the dormouse gave a derisive scoff at his title, but she continued speaking before he could object. "Very well. I'm Lieutenant Bellona Littlebrush of Martin's Shadow in the Northern Reaches. My commanding officer, Captain Sailpaw--"

"Aye, a bonnie wee in'erdooction, lass--"

"Sir, a word?" The squirrel's bluster faded, and he went into a quick whispered conference with Bellona. Out of the corner of his eye, Venril was sure he saw a smirk flirt across Verand's face.

Finally, the squirrel and the dormouse finished their brief conversation. The squirrel looked unhappy, but resigned. "A'righ', laddie, I'll swallow a temporary truce. But I'm warnin' ye, the firs' time any o' ye puts a footpaw outta line, I'll -- Weel... let's jist say it's in yer best intrest no' t'try, ye ken?"

Venril paused, then waded through the rubble to the squirrel, extending a hesitant paw. "Okay. I...uh, well I accept."

"Very wise." Bellona turned and indicated the expanse of rubble that beasts were still searching through. "Now, order your subordinates to search for survivors."

Venril stifled a sigh. Even that simple set of instructions had an air of condescension about them. When even beasts who under ideal circumstances would have wanted to kill you could not take you seriously, you knew you had a problem.

_But..._ Venril suppressed a tiny smile as he recalled the events in the tunnel. _She doesn't know I killed the otter. I'll show her. I'll show everybody. I'm a real hordebeast now._


	28. The Wheel of Fate is Turning

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 28. The Wheel of Fate is Turning**

_by Rath_

_Truce._

The word was innocent enough, but something about it made Rath bristle. It seemed to sneer at him as he mentally circled it, and he tightened his grip on the axe haft.

But words didn't have necks to chop, and the mound of rocks and rubble that barricaded him from the outside proved itself the more formidable foe. Still, he glanced down at a pair of moles talking - if you could call that gibberish talking - beside him and bared yellowed teeth. _Woodlanders._

"Och! Shift yerself, ye braw lump o' vermin!"

_So loud._ Rath half turned and directed a sullen glare down his scarred nose at the squirrel who stared impetuously back at him.

"Aye, I'm talkin' t'ye! If yer goin' t'stand there like soom stoopid boulder, then get oot the way, ye kin?"

"Leave it, Captain."

The ferret found himself bristling even more at the tempered feminine voice. He couldn't see her very well in the darkness, but he already knew who she was even before he saw the shadow of her bushy tail; the mouse-thing from earlier, that disgusting honorless creature. He'd have won if she hadn't cheated, and the thought sent fresh tendrils of anger wriggling inside him like worms in a corpse.

"Getting out is our first priority," she intoned. "And picking fights won't make this go any faster. We need to work together." The pointed look that very nearly stabbed out toward Rath added a clear _for now_ to the end of the statement.

Rath returned the stare. _Aye, for now._ The ferret felt his anger cool, as if a bucket of water had been poured atop it, leaving nothing but a vaguely numb hiss. He trudged over to another part of the cavern and set his axe against the wall. Flexing his arms to regain a bit of lost feeling, the ferret nursed a bleeding pawpad as he narrowed his good eye and scanned the area.

Work was slow going. The former slaves had been freed of their chains in light of the truce, but both vermin and woodlander alike moved as if they were treading on eggshells as they moved bits of rock in search of survivors beneath the rubble. It would take seasons, at this rate. Or, at the most, a day. But Rath figured that, somehow, such a length of time in such a horrid, enclosed space was close enough to a season as to make no real difference.

Glancing off to the side, the warrior was met with a pitiful sight. The honorable Captain Venril appeared to be wrestling with a boulder, and rapidly losing the fight. Rath half-heartedly curled his lip. _Some Captain._ Sighing, he loped over to the scrawny stoat.

"Stop." The command cut through the air like a killing stroke, and from the way Venril flinched, it looked as if he had probably expected to have been treated in a similar manner. Rath sighed. "You're going to hurt yourself." He furrowed his brow. "What are you doing with this rock anyway? The entrance is over there."

"I know that," Venril panted. "Can you see this pathway? If we could only get this boulder out of the way, then it'd be large enough for a beast to get through. Then, we might be able to find a way out without resorting to potentially causing an even greater rockslide by attempting to move all those ones over there."

Rath had already prepared an objection, but was struck by the logic in the stoat's statement.

"Huh." He crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at the captain, who was still huffing and puffing. _Well. Looks as if you ain't so useless after all._ "That's a... good idea."

"It.. it is?" Venril gawked but for a moment, and then cleared his throat officiously and stood just a touch straighter. "I mean, of course it is! I knew you'd understand, Rath. I've been trying to tell the others, but nobeast will listen to me. Insubordination is quite irritating, y'know..." he trailed off from the look that darkened the ferret's scarred face, and stepped away. "You'll help me, then?"

_Why must this happen to me?_ Without a word, Rath set his shoulder against the boulder and pushed. Muscles standing out like whipcords beneath his fur, he heaved as hard as he was able until the pathway had widened considerably and the boulder no longer stood in the way

"Well done, you!" Venril beamed at the panting ferret, who resisted the urge to give the prat a good swat between the ears. "Now, to find some scouts..." He offered Rath the most hopeful of glances, and the ferret was about to make the urge a reality when an unfamiliar voice interrupted.

"Hello, what's this, then?"

Rath turned his head to get a glimpse of the owner of the voice: a female squirrel. Standing on tip-paw, she peered into the passage.

"I couldn't help but overhear you just now," she smirked, although Rath noticed that her paws were twitching, as if she was eager to be holding something. "Normally, I'd eat my hammer before I'd help vermin, but I wouldn't rightly mind being part of a scouting party. Better'n being cooped up here, anyhow."

Venril smiled. "Excellent." Although Rath detected a tinge of indignation in the stoat's voice as he looked the woodlander over.

At that point, several beasts had ambled over to the newly uncovered passageway. A lanky rat approached, narrowing his eyes as he peered into the darkness. "Well, I'll be. Wonder if dat treasure is down there?"

"Idjit!" A tough-looking old weasel smacked his companion. "How could ye think o' treasure at a time like this?"

"No, he's right."

Rath turned his head to see Captain Matukhana limp heavily into sight. The fox had been partially buried, and until recently had been flickering between sleep and consciousness. He looked just as keen and imperious as ever, however, and the outspoken weasel still flinched under his captain's hard gaze.

"As long as we're already searching for the way out, there's no harm in keeping your lugs peeled for the treasure as well. Right, birdy?"

The robin redbreast, who had been approaching the passage in a series of stealthy little hops, cocked his head toward the leering dogfox.

"But of course," he trilled, not appearing the least bit ruffled. "I was about to suggest the very same thing."

"Fancy! Think there's any vittles down there? I'll bet." Rath recognized the female stoat from earlier as she shuffled up from behind the weasel. Her whiskers twitched as she sniffed and snuffled at the air. "I'm right starved." She stole a greedy glance toward the robin and licked her lips.

"If you don't mind me saying..." Another female voice interjected. Rath's eye slit in consternation; of all the beasts to keep running into him, why did it have to be that ruddy dormouse? She took a stance beside the robin, staring levelly from the stoat to the fox. "I will accompany you."

The mouse's words were as unshakable as the stalactite that barricaded the way out, and it seemed unlikely that she would have swayed, even if Matukhana had minded. As it was, the fox just shrugged in reply.

"Go to it, then," he said. With that, Matukhana stumped over to Rath, who had surreptitiously moved away to observe the new scouts. The weasel, Greenfang, was passing out torches.

"I was watching you," the fox said, offering the ferret a weak clap on the back. "Good work at finding the hidden passage." Venril cleared his throat and raised a paw, but if the fox saw the gesture, he ignored it. "I'm glad to have you as a part of my crew. And with your help, I'm sure the scouting party will be a success, right?"

Rath shifted his good eye in the direction of the dormouse and snorted. The fox grinned sidelong.

"Or, you could always get to work lifting that boulder over there. Either way, get your paws dirty."

Rath's temples throbbed. He scowled at Matukhana's back as the fox limped off, wondering just why his conversations with the captain always seemed to end up this way. He was about to trudge over when his eyes locked on the dormouse, and he snarled. _No. That's right out._ He pounded a fist against the cave walls. _Hellgates, I'm tired o' being pushed about. I'm not going, and that's that._

"Oy, Scars!" Rath turned to the chubby stoat who, after hailing him, stomped over and jabbed a claw at his chest. He blinked. "You missed dinner an' now I'm really 'ungry an' we're not allowed to kill th'woodlanders." The stoat sniffed imperiously. "Great job on bein' late an' forgettin' our dinner plans!"

"I didn't forget," Rath rebuked. "I just..." He faltered. _Forgot._ He stared numbly as the stoat pivoted and plodded toward the tunnel behind the scouting group. For a long moment he stood, watching, until the stoat's black tail-tip disappeared into the darkness.

"I think I should go as well," Venril was saying, looking towards Matukhana. "After all, it was me who - "

"Nay, Captain," the fox said, stifling a yawn as hunkered down beside the boulder. "Us leader-sorts need to stick together. Now, let's see you try your paw at some honest labour. Come on, grab the other side of this, over there..."

With a sigh of long-suffering, Rath gripped his axe and followed the scouting party.

_Huh, those two can lift that boulder themselves. I'll do just as I please._ And it was only natural to be curious about the new pathway, after all.

---

"Chivvers! It's like a big nose."

Rath struggled to look. Squinting over the heads of the scouts, he noticed a fork in the tunnel. The stoatmaid, having been the one to point it out, began wandering down the left-most passage. The accursed dormouse, whose name Rath had learned to be Bellona, spoke up.

"We should split up. Three each. There are six of us, after all."

"Fancy, so you can count. Leave th'thinkin' to th'beasts what can." Revel stuck her tongue out at her over her shoulder and darted onwards, torch raised high. "We only got three torches."

Rath couldn't help but grin at the dormouse's resultant expression. But both their faces fell into a frown of horror at a clattering sound echoing from the passage.

"Yeow-owch!"

"What, what is it?" Rath and Bellona spoke as one beast, bounding forward in preparation for the inevitable massacre that awaited their eyes. They relaxed upon finding Revel in one piece, but to judge from the stoat's caterwauling, such appearances were deceiving.

"My tail!" The stoat cried, pointing an accusing claw at the rock that had accosted her and trapped half her tail beneath the rubble of the collapsed passage. "My only tail!"

Both of the warriors glared at the stoat.

"Wonderful," Bellona said, looking beyond at the mess of rocks and dirt. She picked up the dropped torch to light it better. "What did you do, attack the ceiling?"

"I din' do nothin'," Revel whined, straining on all fours to get free again. Rath worked his axe haft against the rock pinning her, lifting it off her tail just long enough for the stoat to bolt back toward the rest of the scouts.

The weasel, Greenfang, found the entire situation hilarious, and broke into chuffing giggles.

"Haha! Lookit yew, Crinktail!" He pointed at the disfigured tail as he laughed, Birch joining in good-naturedly. Even Damask cracked a beaky smile and chuckled nervously, though he immediately stopped when the stoat turned her glare on him.

"Huh." Birch said, scratched her head after the laughter. "Crinktail... I know I heard that from somewhere. Probably from something I read." Apparently deciding it wasn't really all that important, she shrugged. "Ah well."

"Might I suggest we keep going?" Damask chirped. Bellona nodded, her expression positively frigid.

"Aye. We're wasting time. Down the right side, then."

And so they continued, with Rath bringing up the rear once again. After what seemed to be hours (or possibly just minutes, it was so dreary) of wandering through countless twists and darkened turns, the room opened up into another cavern, smaller than the one they'd been trapped in earlier. Rath could hear the sound of rushing water echoing from somewhere up ahead. By the light of their torches, he could make out several more exits leading off in all directions.

The scouts wandered carefully into the center, glancing all about at the pictures next to the dark holes. Rath stayed behind warily. Somebeast had to remember which was the way back.

Greenfang spoke up. "'ey! Anybeast seen th'stoat?"

The ferret narrowed his good eye and scanned the group. _Me, bird, weasel, squirrel, mouse..._ "You're right; she's missing."

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say!" Birch scoffed. "Shame we couldn't lose another."

Greenfang glowered.

"Say what you wish," Rath said, his voice carefully level, "but beasts going missing ain't nothing to sniff at."

Bellona crossed her arms. "He's right. We need to find her before moving forward. She had one of the torches."

"I'll fetch her." The tough squirrelmaid raised her paw. Rath's ear twitched and he gave it a bemused scratch. _Woodlanders. Changing their mind in seconds._

"If you would, milady..." the robin offered, hopping forward and performing a low bow. "Allow me to escort you. If there is indeed danger lurking about in these caves..."

The squirrel sniffed and puffed out her chest. "Ha! Thanks, but no thanks. Even without my hammer, neither vermin nor monster can take down the mighty Birch! Twice," she added, glancing off to the side. Her paws flexed longingly.

"Just go," Rath growled.

The squirrel 'hmphed' him soundly and then scampered off into the nearest passage. The next few seconds were spent in silence, broken abruptly by an 'oomph' and then an "Oh, I found her."

"Found who?" Revel asked, following Birch back into the cavern. The stoat was still coddling her tail.

"You, you ninny," Greenfang barked. "Get over here."

"Where did you go?" Bellona demanded. "And _why_? Only a fool recruit'd break off from a scouting party in a dark, unknown cave."

"Thought I saw somethin'," Revel said, sneering. "So I chased it. But it got away."

"What do you mean it _got away_..."

Leaving them to their argument, Rath tuned himself out and wandered off to a side of the cavern. His eyes had been attracted by the unfamiliar flash and sparkle of something embedded in the soil. Besides, there was nothing for him to discuss with woodlanders, two paranoid mustelids and what would have normally been dinner.

Chipping at the wall with the tip of his axe, the ferret's hopes fell when the sparkle turned out to be a fleck of mica. Plopping himself down, Rath dug patterns into the clay floor with a claw. _Huh, as if there would be any treasure in this place. I just want to get out._

And then what? Back into the desert to be bossed about by incompetent or egoistical Captains and attacked by vengeful woodlanders, most likely. That sounded like loads of fun. Just absolute _scads_.

"Come on, Whirlwind," Greenfang said, prodding him with a footpaw. "We got some decisions t'make."

Rath stood up and hefted his axe over his shoulder.

"Right," he said. "Decisions."


	29. With a Wonder and a Wild Desire

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 29. With a Wonder and a Wild Desire**

_by Revel_

"We ought to take th'left path."

"Don't be thick. We'll take the right path."

"Which is th'left path, I tells ye!"

"No, that's the _wrong_ path!"

Revel growled. "Chivvers! Take both th'paths, you stupid beasts, just get on with it!"

The weasel, Greenfang, yipped as Revel jammed her paw into his back from behind. He limped out of her reach and leaned against the wall, glaring daggers at the other three scouts.

Damask and Rath had split up earlier, to follow the sound of water. It was generally agreed that while the water had to come from somewhere and ended up somewhere else, it was unlikely the route it took was safe for anybeast to swim, and so it was pointless for them all to follow the same passage when there were others to explore. The rest had kept together, testing the passages one at a time. All had been dead-ends until now.

"She's a point," Bellona said. "Birch, go with the stoat. I'll keep an eye on this one." The dormouse jerked a claw at the glowering weasel. "Can't trust them together. One of us, one of them."

"Fine by me," Birch said, heading down the right-side tunnel.

"Watch yerself, stoat," Greenfang said. He spat on the ground contemptuously and nodded after Birch. "She's a feisty one..."

The weasel was nervous; Revel was only too glad to get rid of him and his overpowering scent. It was odd, Revel noticed. As strong as weasels were on the nose, she couldn't detect any fear from the fuzzy mouse at all.

"A fine trouble," she scoffed, shaking hear head. She followed the squirrel.

The tunnels were dusty here. Glancing behind, Revel saw their pawprints clearly. Here and there little tifts sprinkled from the ceiling, rolling down the curved walls.

"Do hurry up," Birch called, "I can't see a thing without your torch."

The squirrel slapped the wall in frustration and frowned at the torch in Revel's paws wistfully. Revel found the creature's antics amusing. It almost seemed to be sulking, then it would perk up and trot a few more paces forward before growing moody and kicking at rocks.

"Oh... great."

Revel stopped just short of bumping the squirrel and singeing its tail with the torch. After but a moment's consideration, the stoat raised the flame - but Birch moved off again. Revel saw now that the passageway _once again_ forked in two. Birch peered into the leftmost one, her neckfur bristling. Revel thought she saw something in the grey shadows and moved in to investigate. Birch put a paw on her shoulder.

"Please don't."

Revel turned to look at the squirrel, and was hit full-force by that lovely stench. The mighty Birch was afraid!

But then, so was she. Her tail ached something fierce; new tunnels were not to be trusted. If Revel's past experiences had taught her anything, it was that somebeast else should go first.

Their consternation was confirmed as something clattered inside the tunnel. Their heads snapped to look, but saw nothing. The torchlight did not extend far enough. Without another word, they took the right path again.

"If I just had my hammer! I could just bash my own tunnel through here..."

Revel wasn't paying attention any longer. She had not eaten since the coconut, which had gone straight through. She had thought she'd smelled food down these passages, something warm and sweet, but now it was gone. The further they went from the intersection chamber, the colder it grew, the air still and damp. Dust gave way to dirt gave way to slickened stone. Birch's fear still lingered heavily around them; Revel's breath increased in pace.

"Think it's the water?" Birch said, taking notice herself. "I don't hear it."

Revel kept silent. Was it just her bent tail, or was this place starting to edge her nerves? Like clay between her claws that wouldn't come out, or scraping her whiskers up against rough bark by accident. It set her spine a-tingle. An unreasonable urgency quickened her steps. Revel's hazy memory harkened back to the mole runs of Southsward, when she and other young vermin would sneak in and pilfer baked goods in the dark. But it was more than that. She felt like a kit again, alone in the den on a stormy night. Scared that she'd been forgotten, and yet comforted by the familiarity of home all the same.

It came to her gradually: It was the smell after rain: "_Yikker-chip._"

"What's that?" Birch asked, cocking an ear back. "You need a kerchief or something? You shouldn't hold sneezes in, or your nose will blow off, my pa always said."

Revel stared blankly until the squirrel shrugged and turned back to the task of exploration.

Birch picked up a rock and held her arm out, marking the wall every few paces with a tooth-grounding scrape. After a few of these, the squirrel stopped and examined the white scar, and then dashed the rock against the wall a few more times. She began to grin, and turned to Revel.

"That look like a squirrel to you?"

The stoat stared. It did indeed look like a squirrel, if squirrels were made out of white sticks.

Birch drew more lines, her tongue sticking out and one eye squinting as she admired her work.

"Hm... almost." She drew a half-circle on the side of the main stick opposite the tail, then poked the rock into the torch, at the base of the flame. Applying the ash to the wall, she made a black smudge on the end of the tail.

"There. What do you think?"

Revel very nearly said, 'About what?' Instead, she looked closer at the drawings.

"'s me."

"Yep. If anybeast comes this way, they'll know it's us who were here first. Clever, huh?"

"I'm not that fat!"

Revel glanced down at herself. The bottom of her tunic was coming apart at the seems, chafing her fur constantly. She put a tentative paw on her stomach. It was larger than she remembered it being just a week ago.

"You just keep telling yourself that," the squirrel snorted. "Here, gimme that."

It took Revel a few seconds before she realized she was no longer holding the torch. The squirrel had taken it, and was off down the tunnel again, her bushy tail wagging in a taunt.

Instincts kicked in at last. Birch gave a whoop as Revel began running after her. A tricky curve in the passage was the squirrel's immediate undoing. In the time it took to navigate around it, Revel had caught up and tackled her from behind.

They tussled briefly, the torch flying away in the flurry of fisticuffs, only to gutter out against the wall. Birch yelped in pain as Revel's teeth cut through her footpaw; she kicked back hard, catching the stoat's chest and sending her rolling away.

"Oi! You idiot, what are you doing? You could just ask for it back! Oowww... I'm bleeding! Tch, where's the light?"

Birch, still laying on her front, grabbed for the torch and blew on it gently, willing the embers back to life. A sudden weight on her back sent her chin cracking against the floor again, and sharp pains tugged at her neck. The squirrel gasped, claws scraping against the stone floor as she fought to get away.

Revel let go, having missed anything important, only managing to catch hold of the squirrel's nape. She spat out a tuft of fur and went in for another bite, but Birch twisted around in that moment of freedom and brought her little rock down - hard.

Revel blinked. She was laying on her back in the dark. Her head hurt - the bruise from Eliza's oar felt like it had cracked open. She could smell blood, some of it her own, and could feel a trickle down the side of her head. She didn't waste time wondering how long she'd been out for.

The question of intelligence had no say in the matter anymore. This went beyond hunger pangs or instinctive games of cat and mouse - or stoat and squirrel. The wicky treerat would die.

She got to her footpaws, sniffed twice, and then was off.

They had spoken of badgers and hares, of otter holts and mole tribes. They had spoken of the fear that overcame them at the sight of these adversaries thundering toward them. They had used the word "dull" to describe it. A dull fear. A blind panic.

Revel never understood what they had meant. The fireside stories held no bearing on her experiences in life. She had never been in proper battle, or faced up to foes who had an advantage to her. She knew fear, but it was not what they said it was. This fear was sharp, bright and fiery. It filled the tunnel ahead of her, was drawn into her lungs, filled every breath with wild desire. It seeped into her blood until she, too, felt haunted. The stoat had to resist every instinct that told her to look behind. There was no eagle there, no badger. The fear she felt was not her own, she knew. The panic was not blind, but her guide.

That snuffling noise was just her imagination.

The squirrel must have been growing tired. Stumbling paws echoed through the tunnel more often, invisible clawmarks skid further around corners. The blood drips became less erratic, more frequent. The glow reflecting off the walls grew stronger. This was now a dangerous race against life itself, and the squirrel wasn't keeping up. Revel was gaining.

A cul-de-sac. The torch lay flickering on the ground; the squirrel looked dazed, as if she hadn't seen the wall until it was too late. Revel stepped into the light.

The prey ran up against the wall, scrabbled in vain hope for some alcove above, and finding none, whirled to face its hunter. Paws pressed up against the rock behind it, still searching for something, another rock, anything - then at last came forward, balled up into little fists. As if that would offer protection.

Revel growled her challenge. It was met with more fear - oh, it came at her in waves with every ragged, heaving gasp from the squirrel! The heady scent saturated the air between them. Every step closer that Revel took was a step deeper into bliss.

She picked up the fallen torch and held it aloft, illuminating Birch's wide-eyed face.

"D-don't come near me! Stay back!"

"You 'urt me, squirrel."

"Of course I did! You were practically biting my footpaw off, you nutter!"

Revel's stance, at first coiled and dangerous, became uncertain.

"I don't like nuts," she said.

"Neither do I," Birch said, sensing an opening. "Horrid, crazy beasts they are. Now, a good pecan or acorn or cashew..."

Revel tilted her head.

"'s just babblin'. Why can't you beasts ever make any sense? 's not that 'ard to speak normally! That one, Sailtail, 'e's worse than a mole! What's wrong with you squirrels?"

"Excuse me? There was nothing wrong with me! Not until you bit a hole in my leg."

"I ought to finish up an' kill you," Revel whispered. "Don't care about no truce. I'm 'ungry! That's what matters! I'm 'ungry _now_! Chivvers."

"Revel - it is Revel, right? - look, just back away. Sit down. You're giving yourself hiccups. We're supposed to be finding a way out. This is a dead end here. Just... put the torch down, or... or, no, you keep it. That's right, it's _your_ torch."

"Phaw. A fine trouble..."

Revel leaned against the wall, wiping at her face with her free paw. Why did it have to go and sound so reasonable now?

"When we get out, we'll go fishing. There's bound to be fish in the pond, right?"

The stoat groaned, drooling a little at the thought of smoked salmon. Her stomach rumbled just then, louder even than her earlier growl. She put the torch down carefully and massaged her taut belly, murmuring.

Birch began to slide inch-by-inch along the opposite wall, attempting to get by Revel while the stoat was distracted. She was just beginning to reach for the torch when Revel snapped her head up, her cheeks clearly wet.

"It 'urts so much. I can't wait!"

"What, are you having them _now_?" Birch recoiled, her senses momentarily confused by the idea of the stoat giving birth here, of all places; she ended up slinking back into the cul-de-sac. Noticing this, Birch cursed.

Ignoring the squirrel's incredulous remark, Revel pushed away from the wall and faced her, licking her lips.

"Just 'cause you're smart doesn't mean I can't still kill you," she said, her voice airy and sure. She took a deep breath. "Woodlanders do it all th'time. An' once you're dead, it doesn't matter, does it? You're just meat. Chivvers! I figured it out." The stoat smiled hugely. "I figured it out."

"N-now see here, I'm not..."

Revel pounced. Birch flung her arms up and ducked, screaming.

It seemed to go on for an awful long time. The squirrel stopped screaming and opened her eyes, although at first she hadn't realized she had. The torch was dead.

And Revel was gone.


	30. Where the Sky is Lead

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**Chapter 30. Where the Sky is Lead and the Earth is Stone**

_by Keane_

Keane hated waiting. It was a helpless, sickening fear of losing control that embedded itself in his stomach – or maybe that was just hunger. Either way, it was horribly uncomfortable. To add to his unease, he was still irritable over being roused at an unearthly hour and forced to pursue a lot of miserable slaves, only to be trapped in the caves. If you wanted to get right down to it, the last week had been horrid in general, what with being forced out of town, tricked onto a ship, half-drowned, and then stranded at the oasis.

He was beginning to be annoyed.

It wasn't even his surroundings and situation that he found the most galling; it was simply the fact that he had no control over anything.

Matukhana seemed to share the cat's irritation, Keane reflected, watching the fox pace back and forth as the group sat and waited for the scouts to return. At last, the vulpine ceased his circuit and swung about to face the majority of the beasts collected.

"There's no sense sitting idle," he declared. "Resume the digging until they return. If the passage leads nowhere, at least we'll have made some progress."

Keane sat still as other beasts struggled to their footpaws around him. His tail flicked defiantly. If they wanted him to dig, then by hellgates, they were going to have to make him!

"You... you should help!"

Keane looked up to see the skinny stoat who had started this whole mess and frowned. "That's a matter of opinion."

The stoat didn't look entirely surprised by his refusal. "Yes, well, it's _my_ opinion, and I'm a captain. So there!"

The cat snorted. "Honestly, I don't care what you think you are. Now, run along and have fun playing at being in charge."

Venril stared at him for a moment, opening and closing his mouth. At a loss for words, the stoat spun around and hurried away to "oversee" things and parrot all of Matukhana's orders. Keane watched his retreat thoughtfully; Venril wouldn't be such a terrible leader if only he had a bit more self confidence. The cat thought of the contents of his coat pockets and smiled to himself; he just might have a new customer.

It wasn't long before the noise of rocks being moved began to grate at his ears, and the cat slunk away from the group in search of a quieter spot. Having traveled a sufficient distance that the din had faded to a mild annoyance, he curled up against the wall of the cavern, yawning. There was a closeness in the caves that reminded Keane of being in a closet. The cat closed his eyes, savoring the feeling. Small spaces were safe and comfortable; they gave him an unexplainable feeling of invincibility.

Keane curled into a tighter ball, slowing his breathing. As long as his eyes were closed, he could imagine himself to be in his favorite hiding place as a kitten, crouched in the back of his parents' closet. After the last few days, it seemed like the most desirable place in the world, and he sighed, wishing himself back in the spot, hanging clothes dangling in front of his face.

~

_He had fallen asleep there, alone and secure in his hiding place. The kitten blinked and stretched, wondering what had roused him from his slumber. His ears pricked. Was that... crying?_

The kitten crawled to the front of the closet, cracking the door gingerly. He peeked out, eyes widening when he recognized the sobbing form sprawled across the bed as his mother.

"Mum?" he pushed the door open and struggled to his footpaws, venturing into the room. "What's wrong?"

The female wept on, deaf to his queries. Keane crept closer, bewildered. "Mum?" He reached out to touch her shoulder.

The female started, whipping her head around to see him. "Keane, dear," she sniffled, "Run along and play." She attempted a smile, but it was a crooked, wobbly display.

Keane didn't budge. "What's wrong?" he repeated, more insistently. She didn't answer; her face crumpled and she sobbed harder into the bedspread.

"Can I help?" he tried again.

Abruptly, she quieted, raising her head slowly and staring at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Help?" she repeated, and swallowed. "I... I think maybe you could."

She'd sent him out to the streets with instructions to find a beast in a long black coat and a hat over his eyes, lurking in an alleyway. He was to give the beast money and bring back what he was given in return.

He was not to tell his father where he'd been. "It's bad enough that he won't let me out of the house," she'd remarked sullenly.

He hadn't really understood, that first time. All he'd known then was that everything changed that day. His mum treated him differently than his brothers; she was kind to a fault. And she trusted him. He was her favorite – she told him so, many times. His brothers hated him for the attention he received, but Keane didn't care, because at last, he understood that Balm was power. With it, he could control his mother – manipulate her, force her to give him anything he wanted. Not just his mother, though.

He could control everybeast.

~

"Matukhana sent me to bring you back."

Keane breathed in sharply, jolted from his memories. He looked up to find Eliza standing over him and glaring daggers.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, a bit miffed by her unprovoked resentment.

The marten sighed dramatically. "I don't know; do you consider being trapped in a filthy cave with a lot of uneducated slobs 'all right'?" She arched one eyebrow. "If you mean, 'has the situation changed any,' then the answer is no. The captain simply insisted that everyone help out, not just sneak off by themselves." With that, she turned on her heel and flounced away.

Keane made a face at her retreating back. _Wench._

"Hoi! They're back!" The cry resounded through the cave.

Stiffly, the cat got to his footpaws and arched his back in a stretch before striding back to the group. The scouts had returned, but a quick headcount revealed that two were missing.

Matukhana was quick to meet Rath, giving him a curt nod of greeting. "Did you find an exit?"

The ferret – looking a bit ruffled, Keane observed – shook his head. "No. But we met... other beasts."

There was a moment of silence. "What manner of beasts? What did they want?"

The ferret shrugged, a tad irritably. "They were balmy, if you ask me. Hissed a lot 'n ran off."

Matukhana considered this. "Did they seem hostile?"

"No, just hungry. Tried to make off with the bird."

"Well. Not much we can do but wait, I suppose," the fox mused, sounding displeased. "No need to let them take us by surprise, though." He paused and then asked, "What happened to the other two?"

The mouse-like creature that had gone with the scouts stepped forward, frowning. "Revel and Birch? We thought they'd come back here."

"We haven't seen them since you left," Venril spoke up. "Maybe we should send somebeast after them..."

Matukhana waved for the stoat to be quiet. "It's better we stay together," he declared. "There are more important things to worry about." With that, he went about organizing the group into a defensive formation to meet the mysterious beasts when they should arrive.

Keane sighed, ears drooping. To him, it all came down to more waiting, and he felt certain that he'd done enough of that for one day. Grumpily, he complied when instructed to stand in a certain place and accepted a knife when it was handed to him.

The cat tested the blade curiously and raised a brow in surprise when he cut his paw. He hadn't expected it to be _that_ sharp. He stuck his paw in his mouth, glancing about surreptitiously to see if anybeast had noticed, only to discover Rath standing next to him and watching with an expression of amusement.

"You don't know how to use that," the ferret stated, not bothering to make it into a question.

Keane shrugged and withdrew his paw from his mouth, licking the last traces of blood from the cut. "Try telling that to the madbeast in charge," he muttered.

The ferret didn't reply. Keane glanced down at the pouch hanging from the ferret's belt; it was even smaller than when he'd given it to the beast.

"What'd you think of the Balm?" he asked casually, voice pitched low.

Rath hesitated. "It was... strange."

Keane smiled slightly and opened his mouth to respond when a hush fell upon those assembled and his eyes turned to the passage, tensing as pawsteps sounded, drawing near. His grip on the hilt of the knife tightened as a voice wailed in protest, and then resolved into words.

"For th'last time, lemme go!"

Keane blinked as he recognized the voice as Revel's, just before a group of beasts spilled from the passage into the main cavern, dragging the two missing scouts with them.

The cat stared at the newcomers, hardly noticing as Matukhana stepped forward to greet them and Revel and Birch were released.

The strangers were vermin _and_ woodlander, and that was odd enough in itself. Most of them wore little to no clothing. Keane would have found this in itself odd, but it was the last detail that transfixed the cat with horror.

None of them had eyes.


	31. It's twice as sportin', goin' courtin'

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 31. It's twice as sportin', goin' courtin'**

_by Damask_

The dust had settled, so to speak. The bird chanced a glance at the leadership of the cave, who were holding a vocally quiet, yet emotionally heated, conference halfway down the nearest tunnel -- in sight, but out of earshot. Well, not in sight of the newcomers, obviously. _And hopefully, they've forgotten about me..._

The fox captain gestured his way, his mouth splitting into a wide grin. _Of course. I didn't think that was all that likely._

At least the world was beginning to make a little more sense since he ventured into the caves. While traversing the tunnels, Damask had allowed his mouth to disconnect from his mind -- to the point where he was having a hard time remembering how he had explained away the crude paintings, never mind the supposed treasure.

Instead, Damask had let his mind settle on the issue of these _stories_ that exploded across his thoughts. Characters and great deeds shifting in his consciousness, an endless cast in a great mental masterpiece. He had figured it out. Even though Bellona had spoiled it all, he had figured it out.

_They're all about me!_ How else could he know every deed? _There has to be a lifetime of stories, and I've lived a lifetime. It would explain why my head is hurting, the wound from the war against the Greatwythe, or why I remember snowy mountains from the taming of Feverstryke the Kite, or even why I crave quince jam, since Redwall Abbey is known for its quince! I mean, sure, all that about armor and swords is odd, but they could be metaphors. Yes... poetic devices. Physical representations of my valor and strength!_

He shot another glance at the group. _But some things didn't make sense. Why did Bellona come to rescue_ him? _Wasn't that his job? His_ duty. _And these newcomers... I don't remember a story about blinded beasts._

The bird hopped to his feet and began to move about the cavern in short, staccato hops. His head turned this way and that as he surveyed the motley assortment of creatures, some of which were still being extracted from the ruins.

Damask snorted once, moving away from the main throng and towards an antechamber of sorts, letting his eyes run over a piece of art of ages past -- another of the cave paintings. A small blob of brown, it looked almost like a mouse, but the ears were smaller, was -- a noise from the entrance to his alcove snatched his attention away from the art. At the entrance was...

Damask could actually feel his heart begin to dance a two-step, his stomach trying its best to keep up. Before him was -- _A maiden! That's it! Every heroic deed, every war... they've all been for naught! Ah! How could a beauty such as this have ever existed?_

She was demure and sweet. The way she tried to keep from locking eyes told him as much. She would glance up at him for a moment, but turn her gaze away as soon as he tried to hold it. Her paws were delicate, as if even flowers would tremble, lest they injure her. Her dress was ragged from the recent collapse, yet even through the attrition, Damask could see that it sparkled when it caught the light, but not like her eyes. _Ah me..._

Her eyes, when they darted to meet his, they were: _If the sun could go black, it would shine as they do. They draw me in... not as a pool or lake, or even a verdant wood. No... her eyes promise much more. They_ enthrall.

Damask's look hardened when he caught a glimpse of her face. He seethed inwardly, thinking, _Yet what beast could do such a thing?_ Her beauty was still visible from beneath the scars, of that there was no doubt: the soft cheeks which tears would be ashamed to mar, her gentle snout, her fair brow.

"If..."

The maiden looked up, finally facing him dead-on. The bird's voice caught in his throat at that, causing her expression to change. She brought a paw up to her waist, arched a brow, and gave a half-smile, none of which helped Damask articulate further. _She's nervous, too! See how that paw -- so dainty -- taps!_

"Well? What is it?"

"Err... I just wanted to say," he began, letting his gaze trail down, his voice following suit. "That is..." He took a deep breath through his beak, pushing hard against his stomach to force it back into place, as he continued, "If you color a diamond, it still shines."

She was confused! The brow stayed up, but the smile disappeared. "What was that?" Her voice was low -- she must be overcome with emotion as well.

"That is... even if you smear charcoal on a diamond, well, it will shine through." The words pushed themselves out from within, emerging as a hurried babble.

She seemed to shrink, then. Her brow dropped, as did her paws to her side. Her body seemed to shrink on itself, and her face turned away -- a decrescendo. Yet, one of her paws was clenched, and Damask was starting to fidget until she spoke up, "You... how dare you?"

The bird's eyes shot wide as he began a verbal assault again, "No! No, no... don't misunderstand, Mi'lady! I didn't mean. That is, you're the diamond! Your beauty --"

Before he could continue, she spun on a heel and began to work her way toward the main chamber.

_Fool! You've gone how many seasons without this! How many wars and battles? Campaigns and travails?_ "Miss, please!"

She paused at the door, giving him a brief moment to continue.

"Please," he implored, fluttering in place, "may I at least know your name?"

"Eliza." As terse as it was, it was a reply.

"Well, miss Eliza..." He held the last vowel for a beat.

She sighed, placing a paw against the cave wall. "Eliza Lacrimosa."

He wracked his brain for a feverish second before he saw her weight shift. _She is about to leave again!_

He let forth a single melodious hum to gain his pitch, then began to sing:

_Each day that passes 'neath the shifting sands --  
Always moving down -- from heavenly light,  
Still I within forgotten midnight lands  
Amazéd am by this seraphic sight!_

__

Oh fear you, here, as if the land of sleep  
Could lend its nightmare form to waking life.  
Your tears have moved the very ground to weep  
As if it echoes back your whimp'red strife.

Do not, your beauty seek to mar with frown.  
Upon your visage let no worry stay.  
And weep not, most adored, for this I vow:  
I shall not from you ever go astray!

_O you are dearest, love, so don't you fear:  
Until my final days, I will be here._

As he sang, he could see her first clench, then relax as she turned, her muzzle half-open as the poem continued. As he finished, he saw one side of her mouth twitch and her eyes close. A moment later, however she turned and left, moving at a brisk stride from the chamber.

The bird let his frame go limp as he rested back against the painted wall, until the shouts from the main chamber brought him back to standing. He wearily took to wing, to see if cooler heads and faster tongues could resolve the situation.

_She's just being coy, right? That's what maidens always do._


	32. How Dare You Interrupt Me, Grimalkin!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 32. How Dare You Interrupt Me, Grimalkin! **

_by Rath_

Rath stared at the beasts who scuttled out of the dark like insects to a fresh body. The ferret narrowed his good eye; he hadn't expected them to be back this soon. At least they had the decency to bring them back. Rath wouldn't have put it past the nasties to eat them.

Muscles tensing, he took careful measure of each madbeast, from ears to twitching tail-tip. And mad they most certainly were; a ragged fox whispered into the ear of a hare and the two eyeless creatures erupted into broken giggles.

His fur stood on end. He wanted nothing to do with these creatures.

Matukhana stepped forward, doing his best to hide his injuries, just as a wildcat in tattered robes met him. Unlike the rest of the group, it was hard to tell whether or not he was actually blind, as a faded cloth was wrapped over his eyes. He smiled, fangs gleaming in the bare torchlight.

"Welcome." The word seemed to slither over the cat's teeth. "We bring back your beasts, wish to speak with Vik'hrr Chivkis."

The fox captain blinked.

"I think," Venril piped up, "it's safe to say that means leader."

Matukhana snorted. "I knew that." He turned his attention back to the blindfolded wildcat and jabbed a claw at his chest. "Well, 'ere I am. You and your scruffy lot have got some explaining to do. First of all, who—"

The fox froze mid-sentence as his face was enveloped in grasping, striped paws. With a rather uncaptain-like yelp, he jerked backward. "Hellsteeth! What in jib booms do you think you're doing, cat?!"

An ugly frown split the wildcat's face. "No good. You only common Chafa."

Matukhana choked on an objection. The cat, however, had already moved on, padding past the speechless captain.

"No waste time. Come, Chivkis."

There was an uncomfortable amount of silence, broken once again by Venril. "Oh, well… maybe it's me, then. I'm a Captain!"

_And a right good captain, too._ Rath felt the headache from earlier return.

The cave dweller didn't even need to feel the stoat's face as he stepped past. He curled his lip. "Hsschah! Vikvi too small 'n runty for Chivkis."

"Then try me on fer size, laddie!" The loud squirrel from earlier swaggered forward, offering the wildcat a perilous grin. Rath snorted; it wasn't as if the cat could even see it. The old beast's movements, particularly a fondness for moving his ears instead of his whole head, marked him as being just as blind as his followers.

"I dinnae ken wha' this Chivkis bollocks yer goin' on about is, but a cap'n o' Mar'in's Shadow's ten times the beast o' any braw vermin."

The cat sniffed, his mouth frozen in an odd grimace as he neared the squirrel. He then bristled. "Nonononono no! Not right."

"Hskyik!" An eyeless, loincloth-clad mouse bared chipped incisors. "You wastetime!"

Rath frowned. If it came down to battle, it would be a one-sided massacre. This, above all else, had to be avoided. Their blood was probably rotten inside their veins, for one thing. It would rust his axe. And he could only see millions more of them pouring out into the tunnel, like a swarm of sickly spiders.

The ferret wracked his brain for an alternative. _Chivkis._ He'd heard it before. He was busy mulling over the word when he noticed Damask flutter into the room, looking distinctly put out.

"They could be looking for the bird," he offered. The robin sent a positively venomous glare in his direction.

The cat, too, turned to face him, and the warrior felt, for the first time in seasons, the overwhelming urge to retreat as the bandy-legged cat slithered through the throng of beasts with an uncanny agility. The feline had barely placed a claw to his useless eye when Rath bared his teeth and pushed aside the paw with his axe haft. "Get away from me, old one."

The cat only smiled. "Ah, strong is Vik'hrr Chivkis. Why not you speak up sooner?" The smile faded, and he twitched his whiskers. "I am Yirika Chivkis Chopufi of noble Fritterik. Vik'hrr tribe come to Bigfeast in Chivkisik honor, yes?"

Rath froze. This was not his decision to make. The cave beasts pressed around him and something inside shivered. These beasts were so much like _Them._ But something was different. The shiver bundled up in his stomach unfurled and radiated with warmth, so much like the blood after a first kill.

"Err... okay."

"Good!" The cat beamed, and Rath could nearly see eyes crinkling with pleasure behind the blindfold. "We leave at once!"

--

"Well, doesn't this just take the biscuit?"

Rath twitched an ear as Matukhana fell into step beside him. Damask, looking just as miserable as ever, hopped along a few paces in front.

Glancing sidelong at the warrior, the fox continued. "By the by, you still haven't told me what exactly happened in the caves." His gaze hardened. "These scruffy savages might have taken a fancy to you, but don't forget that you're a member of my crew, ferret."

Rath shrugged. "Fair enough. I think I might have an idea what this 'Chivkis' nonsense is all about."

"Do tell," Matukhana drawled. "It looks like we've got a ways ahead of us."

--

_Rath, his axe hefted over one shoulder, loped toward Greenfang. "We're moving on, then?"_

The weasel nodded. "Aye, sure 'nough." He cracked a smile, showing off a fine display of rotted teeth. "Next time Crinky gets lost, we're jus' goin' on widdout her."

Rath nodded, and he and Greenfang went to rejoin the group. As they neared the picture wall, however, the ferret narrowed his good eye. "Hold on." He pointed to the side, where Damask stood. "Did you see something move over there?"

"Wozzat? Y'mean besides da bird?" Greenfang squinted and peered into the darkness. After a moment, the old weasel gave up. "Aw, yer seein' things, Lefty." With that, he continued toward the picture wall, leaving Rath staring into the darkness.

The warrior scowled. He didn't like a problem, be it a living beast or otherwise, that he couldn't cleave. Even more annoying was that the weasel was probably right; the shifting shadows lurking in the darkness had most likely been just that.

He had only begun to follow Greenfang when a chirp of surprise caught the mustelid off guard, and he whirled around.

"Good day, gents! And what would two fine rodents be doing in such a lovely cavern?"

Rath snorted. Even when confronted by two rats, the robin acted as nonchalant as ever, his words as sweet as coconut milk.

The ferret supposed he should do something about the situation, but he felt an odd sort of fatigue, like the sapping ache after a long bout. He really didn't care what happened to the bird, and it was much more amusing to watch.

So he did.

One of the rats snickered. "Lookiss! Funny shrip!" The rat was an odd specimen. Thoroughly undersized, he spoke in a halting manner in a way that was more hiss than strictly necessary.

His companion, who was a little fuller bodied, hefted a stone club. "Shrip Chavers!"

Realizing that the situation was going south quickly, Damask changed tactics in an eye's blink. "Hold!" He spread his wings wide, and the two rats complied, gazing curious at their prey. "Ruffians! Take but one step closer—just one!—and on my word, you will regret it!"

"Chavers talkfunny." The skinny rat said, gnawing at a hang-claw.

His companion seemed the more aggressive of the two. He sneered. "Yah! Whylisten Chavers?"

"I don't think you quite understand the consequences of thwarting me." The robin puffed out his chest. "Come forth at your peril, knaves." He emphasized this warning with a darting hop and a snap of his beak, and the vermin started. "For if you do, Damask, the great and powerful sorcerer from the land above, shall afflict you with a curse most foul!"

"Inflict."

Rath raised an eyewhisker, a bit put out at having been interrupted. "What?"

"You do not afflict somebeast," Damask chirped crossly as he hop-skipped along. "If you're going to tell a story, sirrah, take care not to do the players injustice."

The ferret, who didn't even know what either of those words meant, shrugged. "Fine. Anyway…"

_The rats seemed quite taken aback by this._

"Curse?" The skinny one took a step back.

Damask, meanwhile, looked rather smug. "Why yes, my unkempt friend. Since I am as just as I am powerful, however, I will pretend this never happened if you leave immediately."

The heftier rodent snarled. "I tired of noisy chavers. No curse if eatupquick!"

"Stop right there!"

Rath wrinkled his nose; that stupid mouse. Probably thought she was being such a heroine. He watched as she drew out that pathetic toy sword she was always waving about.

"Come any closer, vermin, and I'll slice you to ribbons."

The smaller rat froze in place, but the larger one snarled and drove in. Bellona dodged nimbly, and retaliated, carving a painful gash into the rat's arm.

Rath let his axe drop into his paws. At this rate, it would take ages.

"Hold there."

Both vermin halted in their tracks and turned to face the scarred ferret who loped toward them. He swung his axe in a fighter's stance. "That's my dinner," he said with a smirk.

"Over my dead body, scum!" the mouse shot back at him.

The rats, however, seemed to be frozen in place, staring up at the one-eyed warrior.

"And that's when they said something about a Vik'hrr Chivkis," Rath murmured. "Something about their language changed, there was a lot more hissing and chirping. But I remember hearing that somewhere in there." He frowned. _Whatever it is, I'm not sure I like being one._

"Anyway," the ferret continued, "after that, they just ran away."

"Cowards," Damask trilled. "Like all vermin are." He leveled a virulent glare in Rath's direction. That was unchanged as well.

_Rath snorted. Weakling bullies like them who couldn't even fight were only in the way._

And yet, as the ferret watched them scurry back into the shadows, he felt an odd kind of warmth and stood up just a little taller. He turned, head held high.

"Ow!"

Rath grunted as he rubbed at the tender spot on his paw. "What was that for, bird? I just saved your life."

Damask snapped his beak. "I didn't need your help, you great big lummox! I've gotten out of bigger troubles than that before." The robin launched himself into the air and hovered in front of the ferret so that they were eye-to-eye.

"You tried to kill Bellona." Damask's voice dripped with hatred. "As long as you live, we're enemies."

Rath could have easily fought back. _Coward? Tell that to your mouse friend, who couldn't even finish a proper duel without cheating._

But there was no need to bandy threats with a bird. There was nothing the little tidbit could do to him, anyway.

He stopped beside Matukhana, offering the fox a none-too gentle slap on the back. "Well, have fun guarding the slaves, Captain. I'm going up ahead."

And the ferret strode onward, the look on the fox captain's face putting an extra spring in his step.


	33. Mary Jane's Last Dance

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 33. Mary Jane's Last Dance**

_by Substitute Author_

As Keane watched the scene unfold before his eyes, a strange mixture of horror and amusement washed over him. The blindfolded cat with the weird name was disturbing, but it was certainly satisfying to watch both Matukhana and Venril be looked over in favor of Rath. Whatever a Chivkis was, it was enough to make the fox and stoat eye Rath resentfully.

Though, the feline couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed at the ferret for readily agreeing to follow the eyeless beasts without even discussing it with anybeast first. The group began to file after their strange hosts, heading deeper into the cave, which to Keane meant only one thing: they weren't getting out of this place any time soon. Was he the only one that _cared_that they were trapped underground with a bunch of lunatics?

Turning, he discovered he wasn't the only one that had hung back uncertainly. That squirrel, the one that hated everybeast and wanted to attack after the cave-in, was having some heated discussion with the slightly more sensible dormouse that had suggested the truce. Keane's ears swiveled in their direction, picking up snatches of their murmured conversation.

"...Leftenan', I dinnae agree..."

"...only thing we could've done in this situation..."

"...just 'ave us in chains again once we're oot..."

"...risk we have to take..."

Sailpaw fell silent, and Keane quickly averted his gaze when he realized his eavesdropping had been noticed. "'Ave yeh got somethin' t' say t' us, laddie?" the squirrel growled.

"Er," Keane thought, searching for some adequate excuse. "Just that we're going to some feast now, and you're going to get left behind if you don't hurry up."

Sailpaw rolled his eyes. "Weeeeeel noo, aren't we the bearer o' obvious tidin's?"

"Come on, Captain, let's just go," Bellona said.

They disappeared down the passage, leaving Keane alone in the dark. Though his sharp eyes could make out objects around him fairly well in the gloom, the cat was not at all comfortable with their decision to extend their stay in this utterly creepy place. The wildcat felt absently in the pockets of his coat, pulling out a small pouch.

Well, if they really were in for the long haul, he might as well do something to make it more bearable.

It took a moment to take effect, and Keane, in his haste to feel less creeped out by his surroundings, had emptied the remainder of the pouch in a trice. A stupid mistake, of course, and he should've known better. He knew the right dose, he'd instructed countless beasts on it, told them time and time again to wait because it took a moment to take effect, but the smell, the intoxicating smell had filled his nostrils when he loosed the drawstring, and it was irresistible.

And then, all at once it took over, and he found he didn't care. In fact, he didn't care about much of anything anymore. Maybe that's why he took it all in the first place; it was becoming difficult to remember. Suddenly there was no end to the possibilities in this cave, and he just had to explore them.

Keane's eyes flickered, pupils dilated, his tail fluffed out and twitching from side to side endlessly. The feline bounded down the passage, heart hammering madly, mewling like a playful kitten and stopping every once in a while to rub his fur against the rough rocks jutting out from the walls of the cave. They felt so good on his itching back!

A movement up ahead caught the cat's attention, and he dropped onto all fours, crouching low. It was that squirrel and dormouse. They hadn't noticed him. Oh, that miserable squirrel was going to get the shock of his life. It was going to be hilarious. Biting his lip to hide a snigger, Keane stalked closer and closer to the pair, his legs tensing, waiting for the right moment...

He sprang.

The momentum bowled Sailpaw over, Keane pinning him neatly to the floor. The squirrel weaved a vast aural tapestry of curses, struggling to remove the cat's bulk while Keane growled playfully, cuffing him about the head with a paw.

And then, something was wrong. The dormouse rushed toward him, and then did a nimble hop-skip back, something dark glistening on her paws. A metallic scent stung Keane's heightened senses and he forgot about the squirrel, rolling to the side and smacking his head painfully against the rock wall. Pain. He remembered it now. But it wasn't just in his head, it was all over. He looked down, his own knife handle protruding from his stomach, dark blood pouring out around it.

The sobering truth took a moment to sink in, but when it did, Keane howled in an agonized rage. His head cleared, and it was all coming back now. Pain. He'd seen a game, and all they must have seen was a growling cat attacking them. Pain. They did exactly what he would've done, or tried to have done, were the roles reversed. _Pain._

The dormouse was eyeing him now, no trace of pity or emotion in her eyes as she watched him go limp. The squirrel was snarling something at him, but he didn't bother to listen. As the cave faded away, Keane could only hear one thought drifting through his mind.

He could control others, but when it had really mattered, he couldn't even control himself.

end of week two. 


	34. Raise the Curtain for Act III!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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start of week three. 

**Chapter 34. Raise the Curtain for Act III!**

_by Eliza_

_A feast? These grotesque savages actually believe that this is a feast?_

The dish Eliza was currently staring at would have made the culinary artisans back home cry bitterly into their marinades. It was the most _revolting_ thing she had ever seen.

"Hantz!" The beastly little savages had proclaimed, slapping down an ugly, misshapen hunk of twisted scales. It almost looked as though it had been a fish at some point. One which had died quite horribly, if the horrid leer across its charcoal visage was any guide.

Eliza grimaced. She wouldn't have fed this garbage even to _servants._

It wasn't as if she had anything against fish particularly. Trout had always occupied a special place in her heart. Yes, trout, which was presented lying in luscious repose across a silky bed of greens. Long fillets of pale, flaky meat, served floured and buttered and sprinkled with garlic and rosemary...

But this was definitely not trout. This was... _hantz._

Hantz came with the head and fins still on, exuding a sharp bouquet of brine. When she eventually worked up the nerve to crack the charred shell open, the meat was stringy and full of fibre-thin bones. One milky eyeball stared reproachfully at her.

There was no sight of greens, either. _Down here, they're probably "browns," anyway,_ Eliza thought, electing to give the fish a pass.

Eliza elected to give the fish a pass. Trying to distance herself from the smell, she watched the strange chattering beasts swarming alongside the rough stone table. Their movements reminded her of insects.

The primitive creatures seemed to have a very bizarre caste system in place. The blind ones were treated with greater respect; they sat comfortably while the relatively 'normal,' seeing creatures bustled about serving the meal.

It made sense, she supposed. Blind beasts would probably spill things.

One of the feral underlings skittered over, clutching a hollowed-out coconut husk bowl. "Brkich!" it announced, proudly shoving the dish into her paws.

A foul-smelling steam wafted up from the filmy brown liquid. Soup of some kind, perhaps? Eliza tilted the bowl, and bloated chunks of something ghastly-looking bobbed to the surface. One of them looked disconcertingly like a clawnail clipping.

_Perhaps not._ Her pallor rapidly draining, Eliza pushed the bowl aside. The feral chattered something at her, the penultimate lilt in tone indicating that she'd probably been asked a question.

Eliza attempted to dismiss the cretin with a regal sniff. She was hardly in the mood to talk to savages.

The clueless feral insistently repeated the string of blather, gesturing at the wretched hantz.

"He would like to know if thee are enjoying thy fish," said a grandfatherly voice behind her.

"No, actually." Eliza said. _Since I'd rather be hung than taste that rubbish._

Headspikes rustled as the hog nodded. "That is unfortunate. Perhaps thee would prefer some of the brkich stew?"

"Oh, _perhaps_," she lied. Her oh-aren't-you-a-_sweet_-little-simpleton smile faltered when the hog's head turned slightly, exposing a hollow eye socket.

One of the brkich servers peered curiously at Eliza, cocking its head to one side. "Vik'hrr Chivkis," it nattered to the hedgehong, "im vikvi iv yi?"

The one-eyed hog issued a stream of clicks and churrs. "Ihn vikvi. Iv... chafa pyr vik?"

"Iv... chaf-vik?"

The codger chuckled, nodding. "Chafvik." This set the nearby ferals chittering with high-pitched laughter.

"What did you say to them?" Eliza asked, non-plussed.

"Fritterik speak a language which only has words for things they know. They have never seen a beast like thee, so they ask, 'What stoat is this?' But, I told him, thee are not a stoat."

_Thank the merciful Fates,_ Eliza thought, glancing in Revel's direction.

"So," the hog continued, "I told him that thee were a Chafvik, which means a 'stoat fox.' The Fritterik think it is funny."

Eliza's sarcastic response was interrupted by the eyeless mouse on her other side. "Ey, Vik'hrr Chivis, you say dis un are Chafvik?"

"Mm," affirmed the hedgehog.

The blind mouse's laugh was thick and guttural. "Hyakkak! Never see'd a one like dat. Mik takea look."

Eliza snorted derisively, and turned away. Stupid eyeless twit, believing that he could actually _look_ at-

Interrupting the thought, spidery claws latched onto her head, pulling her backwards. The mouse's filthy chest fur pressed against her ear, and claw-tips crawled all over her face, tracing the paths of her hideous scars. She struggled, trying to get free.

Her claws scrabbled ineffectually, and then sank into the mouse's flesh, forcing his grip to ease momentarily.

"How _dare_ you!" Eliza shrieked, wrenching herself free. She punctuated this exclamation with a kick.

The blind oaf started, surprised. Without thinking, Eliza snatched the husk bowl, and tossed the contents into his face. With a reedy shriek, the mouse recoiled, rubbing at his eye sockets.

"You stupid, primitive _savage!_" she spat, bouncing the empty bowl off his chest. "If you ever touch me again, I'll kill you!"

The stupid hedgehog attempted to butt in, laying a conciliatory paw on her shoulder. "Please, Miss, calm thyself. Chivkis Mik was merely trying to-"

"Don't touch me!" Eliza shrieked, smacking his paw away. "How _dare_ you disrespect me in such a manner?"

The hog spluttered wordlessly, his eye wide with surprise.

A ways down the table, the ferret Verand began to laugh. It was the nastiest, most cutting sound Eliza had ever heard.

Burning tears began to well up, and for a brief moment, Eliza didn't care. She _hated_ him! She hated _all_ of them! These stupid, _wretched_ insects were trying to drag her down to their level, make her like them. But she wasn't like them! She was nothing like these brainless savages, or the brigands! Even with the scars, even with her dress all torn to _rags_, she was twice the beast that any of them would ever be. She didn't belong in this miserable cave!

Eliza turned and stamped away, ignoring the hedgehog's protest. The Fritterik shrank back, giving the pine marten a wide berth.

She stormed angrily down the first tunnel she came across. Eliza couldn't see a thing in the darkness, but she pressed on anyway, trying to put as much distance between herself and the nightmarish wretches as possible.

The floor dipped unexpectedly and she tripped, sprawling into the gloom. Eliza lay still for a while, too tired to move. Her heart was clamoring in her ears.

_Breathe in, breathe out,_ she told herself. _Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down. With every frantic beat, let the tide of rage slowly ebb away._

She lay in the darkness for a while. It was curiously peaceful, here in the cool blackness. There were no savages here, nor any brigands, corsairs, or woodlanders. No Revels or Slug-guards or Verands. Just her.

Her ear pricked up at the faint sound of pawsteps. _Probably that bumbling hedgehog, come to fetch me so I can apologize._

Tough tailfur. She wasn't apologizing for anything.

Eliza sat up, squinting back along the tunnel. A long ways back, she could see the mouth of the cavern as a faintly glowing corona. As she watched, part of the glow detached itself. The pool of light bobbed closer, casting faint shadows along the walls. Eventually it resolved itself into a gold-tinged silhouette.

It was that stoat Captain, the twerpy incompetent one. _Venril, or Vennil, or something._

Eliza had always had a fondness for males in uniform. Even a simple military outfit somehow possessed that magical quality to straighten a male's back and inflate his muscles. Venril, however, seemed to have been issued a defective model. The poor stoat wallowed in the depths of his tunic like a disheveled scarecrow.

"Miss Lacrimosa? Are you all right?"

_Go away, you pathetic worm,_ said the voice in her head. "Yes," said the voice in her mouth, miserably.

She was _not_ all right. She hadn't been all right since the collapse.

Probably-Venril blinked awkwardly in the torchlight. "Er... is there anything I can do to help?"

"Unless you can kill your first mate, dig us out of this rockslide, and take me home, I _seriously_ doubt it, Captain."

There was an awkward silence. "I'm... sorry for what happened to you, Miss Lacrimosa. Verand's actions were completely inappropriate, and I promise that I will ensure that the Baron has him thoroughly disciplined."

Eliza stiffened, paws clenched tightly. _That's your way of helping, poindexter? You'll have Verand's paw slapped by some stuffed-shirt Baron? This is all your bloody fault! If you had had even the slightest measure of control over your horde, I wouldn't be here._

His sentiments carried less weight than a broken feather, and Eliza almost told him so.

However, despite the scarring, the imprisonment, and the abysmal circumstances she'd been forced into, Eliza Lacrimosa remained, at her core, a socialite. That core, honed on the jagged edges of sharp tongues and broken promises, recognized what a golden opportunity she had here.

Venril was a Captain. An ineffectual and neutered one, mind you, but nonetheless a Captain. Captains could make a lot of things happen.

Ingratiating oneself, she had found, was like dancing to an improvised solo. _Watch the players, find their flow, time your steps accordingly. Once you've hit your rhythm, never stop moving._

Eliza slipped on her mental dancing shoes, smiling gratefully at the stoat. "You have no idea what that means to me, Captain."

"Er... you're welcome," said Venril absently. The stoat began rummaging about in his pack. "I've got some dried fruit stored away in here. It's not much, but if you can't stomach that disgusting brkich stuff, it's something at least."

She gratefully accepted the fruit. The chunks were hard and yellow, and had sand crusted on them. Back home, she would have slapped them away and demanded proper sustenance.

But this wasn't home. Home was somewhere on the other side of a yawning chasm of circumstances, and fruit was worlds better than brkich. She slipped a piece into her mouth. The fruit was rock hard and tasted like dirt, so she swallowed it quickly.

"Is it good?"

"Compared to that beastly fish, it's divine," she said with a wink.

The stoat reddened slightly, and began fiddling with his tunic. "Er... we should probably start heading back to the cavern. For safety."

"Of course," Eliza agreed, taking his paw. "Thank you, Captain. For _everything._"

"Think nothing of it, miss," Venril gulped. As they began picking their way along the tunnel, Eliza snuck a sidelong glance at her newfound minion. Such a weak little fellow. She almost felt sorry for him. He was cute, in an amusingly pathetic sort of way.


	35. Cold and Lonely in the Deep Dark Night

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 35. Cold and Lonely in the Deep Dark Night**

_by Deadtail_

They had good sense, those cave-dwellers. Some beasts might celebrate special occasions with speeches from windbags, others with a whole slew of promotions, and still others by simply relaxing and letting down their guard. But after he'd tramped through the caves for so long, a feast was just the sort of party Deadtail had in mind.

It was in the ferret's honor, or somesuch, and the rat made out some sort of boisterous acclaim from farther up the table. He did not listen for the details, however, preferring to gulp down whatever was put in front of him.

There was no question that the food was..._exotic_. He gnawed on a lump that had once floated in a muddy stew, then swished the liquid around between bites. It was hard to see if anybeast else was eating more politely, but he doubted they were, and no one had criticized him.

"Good chavers, eh?" asked a weasel to Deadtail's right.

"It's quite filling, yes." He glanced past her, watching the fish make its third trip around the table. Few of his fellow vermin had found it too appetizing—with the exception of the stoatmaid several seats down, who looked ready to match him mouthful for mouthful—but the cave-dwellers could still finish it off before it came around again. _Oh well._

"Yipyip," the weasel replied. "My Vakka-shin, he make 'em."

"Did he now? You'll have to give him my compliments."

"What?"

"Never mind," Deadtail sighed, turning again to follow the fish's progress.

He flinched at a shriek, but it was just the indignant marten. From the way she told it—"How dare you foul savages disrespect me in this manner!"—she didn't have enough scars already, and the cave-dwellers were doing their part to bring her up to the required quota. Her yells gave way to the sound of footpaws hitting stone, and those too faded into silence. After a second set of footpaws crossed the cave, the silence was replaced by what passed for conversation picking up again.

"More fer us, then." The weasel raised a husk bowl to her mouth, slurping down the stew.

"What happened?" asked Deadtail. "I couldn't see."

"The shrip, she get angry. Kick fritterik, then run into gakki. Then pratcha vikvi, he go run into gakki too."

"A gakki?" Deadtail did his best to imitate the growl. "Is that safe for..." _For somebeast like her. And a pratcha vikvi, whatever that is._

But if he had been fool enough to run off into the darkness alone, he'd be almost as vulnerable as Eliza to whatever might be lurking in the caves. Still, below all the scars, she was still no warrior. She didn't belong in some hole below the desert—she could have been safe in some rich home.

He envied, if not her, what she might have been. Should have been.

"Can you see her now? Where did she go?"

Although he could not be sure, Deadtail got the feeling he was on the wrong end of a very pointed glare. "In _gakki_. How can I see?"

"Oh...of course. Pardon me." The hosts' good side tended to be a relatively safe place to be. But although the weasel made more sense than most of the cave-dwellers that he'd heard speak, he couldn't tell if she was actually in a position of any real power. "Your mate. You said he made this food?"

"Vakka-shin. He make brkich."

"Everybeast must be very proud of him. Where is he? Is he sitting up there, with Rath?"

"Vakka-shin make brkich."

Perhaps a different tack was in order. "Does Vakka-shin make brkich every day?"

"Brkich just for bigfeast."

_If this is their once-a-season dish, I don't want to stick around and try their normal fare._

But that wasn't entirely fair to them, was it? He was eating as much "brkich", or whatever it was, as he could get. By and large, the vermin-beneath-the-tunnels were fine beasts. Not great talkers, to be sure, but he'd seen plenty of beasts focus on what was spilling out of their mouths and forget that something was spilling out of their bodies.

Perhaps he should have tried to ingratiate a bit more with the higher-ups. "Excuse me, I'm goin' to go walk around a bit."

"Yipyip."

Deadtail rose to depart—and sat right back down again as he saw the fish finally make its way back around the table. First things first.

Once he'd finished his third helping, though, he walked towards the head of the table. Rath was seated between another ferret and a cat, who sounded as if he was extolling the warrior. Matukhana's army seemed to be spread out around the table; a few friends sat in clumps, but by and large those from above and below the waterfall were scattered among each other. Even the slaves were seated at random; the cave-dwellers' hospitality had strengthened the short-term truce.

Not all the surviving fragments of Martin's Shadow, however, had joined the superficial harmony. Sailpaw's accent just barely carried through the cave. "Bell!" he hissed. "There's no' but three o' us. Wha' d'ye reckon you, me, an' a boggin' _recruit_ could do?"

Deadtail crept closer; the two woodlanders were near the entrance to a tunnel, away from the table.

"We're not starting a war, sir," said Bellona. "They already know we're not from around here and that we must be from someplace else. All we need to do is tell them more—about vermin, about woodlanders."

"We dinnae _need_ t'do anythin', lassie. Why cause trouble when there's no' t'be gained? Och!" Sailpaw coughed and continued. "The path's perilous eno' as it stands. An' why am _I_ tellin' ye this?! Wha's wrong with ye?"

"Nothing's wrong with me. What's wrong with _you_, sir? Half of these creatures don't have eyes! There're dibbuns, _woodlander_ dibbuns who've never seen the sun."

"Oh, aye! An' there're dibbuns aboove ground who've nivver known a peaceful day since the cradle. _No_, Bell. We cannae let this distract oos."

"But, sir, we've nothing to lose. They know the way out, they can help us dig, and then anybeast who wants to can—"

"Littlebrush." Deadtail took the final step towards the squabbling woodlanders. "Not enjoyin' this delicious feast?"

She kept her voice low but charged with energy, like clouds just over the horizon. "What're you doing, vermin?"

"I could ask you the same thing. In fact, I will; what are you planning?"

"Nothing. I only want to talk to some of our...hosts."

"In that case, let's move back towards the party, shall we?" Deadtail's oversized smile, clearly fake, was visible even in the cave's dimness.

"An' wha' concern is it o' yers where we goo, laddie?" Sailpaw feebly demanded.

"If you want to stand around in this hole, I won't stop you. But...look, yer both clever beasts. If you weren't, you wouldn't have made it this far. It just seems a foolish thing to bring this lot up into the oasis. They wouldn't know what to do with themselves."

"So we're supposed to let them suffer?" Bellona challenged.

"Do they look like they're sufferin'?"

"You've seen their faces?"

"There ain't much to look at down here, they're not missin' a lot. They didn't ask us any questions, they don't think we're a threat."

"That's only because they're ignorant. If they learned what your type was really like—"

"That's the point, they don't know what an army is! This is the most peaceful place in the world, Littlebrush, and if you threaten them I'll—"

"You'll do what?" Bellona cut him off with a humorless laugh.

"I..." What was he doing, picking a fight with the dormouse? "I'll make you see sense, that's what I'll do. See if I don't."

He backed away as she tried to shout loud enough for him to hear that she'd gotten in the last word while whispering quietly enough that nobeast else could.

Deadtail wanted to go back to the table, but as he headed there, he realized that sitting down might not be very comfortable. He had drunk a lot of stew, after all, in a very short time. Unsure how to ask his increasingly-burning question to the simple weasel he had sat by, he made his way into one of the cave's many dark nooks and emerged shortly afterward. A hassle, yes, but if it was the worst he'd have to deal with, the caves were truly paradise.

The stoatmaid sniffed at him, wrinkling her muzzle, as he passed her on the way back. "Yurk, you smell different."

"Aye, my nose isn't as good as yours." Not waiting for her to parse his sarcasm, Deadtail added, "There isn't any of that hantz stuff left, is there?"

The rip forming on the side of her tunic strongly suggested that, even if any hantz had remained, he was better off avoiding it.


	36. We Can't Work It Out

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 36. We Can't Work It Out**

_by Bellona_

_You'd best see it my way, 'cause I ain't gonna try to see it your way._

"You're one to speak about sense, vermin!" Bell snarled as loud as she dared. The chittering of the revelers could still be heard from the direction in which Deadtail retreated, but echoes tended to carry in tunnels. She whirled back to her commander, paw raised and opened in a gesture of annoyance.

"What was that, sir?" the dormouse demanded quietly, lips pulled back and teeth bared despite her best efforts to conceal her resentment. "Are we working on our friend and foe routine? Why didn't you say something?"

"Wha' would ye have me say, Bell?" Sailpaw raised his shoulders, then let them slump back down. "I agree with him." A low growl in the squirrel's throat offered some satisfaction that he was as disgusted by that statement as she was.

"Sir, I—" she tried.

"Bell," the captain held up his paw, then coughed wetly for a moment. He shook his head and continued, "I take yer advice t'hart, aye. There's nae denyin' yer twice as clever as me… Boot ever since we stroock tha' truce, ye've been off yer mark. Firs' ye kill tha' wildca'—"

"He was going to kill you!" the dormouse protested hotly. _Of all the things to complain about!_ "And since when have you had a problem with killing vermin?"

"Since I gave me word t'work with 'em." Sailpaw rolled his neck and winced. "I'll grant ye, tha' kitty was mebbe trying t'kill me. Boot mebbe it would've been better t'jist cut his tail off, or somethin'. Tha' ferret had murder in his eyes when ye tol' the fox cap'n aboot it. I'm only thinkin' o' ye, Bell, lassie. Like allus."

"Like always, sir?" She narrowed her eyes and spoke softly, forcing the squirrel to lean in to hear her. She'd learnt long ago that a whisper could hold thrice the command of a shout. "Like with Freyr?"

_"Bell! Where's tha' worthless hoosband o' yers?" She heard Sailpaw carelessly kicking bits of pottery aside as he strode in. She did not look at him, but kept her eyes fixed on Freyr's corpse. Maybe if she stopped blinking the shock of seeing his lacerated body each time would wear off. "Ach… Tha's a pity."_

Words spoken less like a comrade, more like a commander. The squirrel had never loved Freyr -- had known this was coming. He'd tried to stop her. Told her she would regret not listening. Oh, how she'd hated that tone in his voice -- that needling tone that smirked and mocked 'I told you so'.

"Oh, you're a right piece of work, _sir_." Bell felt her anger building, but didn't care as she completely peeled off her cool demeanor like a blood-soaked bandage. Nobeast to impress. No more decorum. Who cared who heard? There was too much at stake here. "You say it's for me, but you're siding with that -- that _vermin_. There's a day."

"Och!" Sailpaw sneered as his ears came forward and his fur bristled. He coughed heavily again, but stood his ground, brow furrowed in the darkness. "Says the lassie who asked -- nae, strike tha' -- _tol'_ me the only way t'get oot was t'work with those boggin' beasties. Guh! Do us a favor, Bell! Yer thinkin' like a fool-headed recruit! The ra's right! We shood jist leave well eno' alo—"

Bell didn't bother with her blade; she went straight for paw-to-paw combat with her friend. But he insolently caught first one balled paw, and then the other. Half shouting an inarticulate curse, half snarling in frustration, the dormouse kicked him in the stomach and stumbled back as he released her and doubled over, coughing much worse than before. She glared at him for a moment and tried to reign herself in as he dropped to all fours. If screaming at her captain wasn't ridiculous enough, wounding a competent fighter was plain stupid.

_Shut up!_ the dormouse howled at the voice of reason guiding her actions and thoughts. Always analyzing, always logical, always stopping her from doing the things she wanted -- needed -- to do. Oh, she listened to the voice, of course. It kept her alive, but it didn't let her live.

"If you say that rat's right one more time, Sailpaw," she warned -- no, _threatened_, "I swear I'll—"

"Captain, Bellona, is there something the matter?" A skittering of claws and a ruffle of feathers alerted the warriors to the presence of another unwelcome spectator. Sailpaw was right about one thing: she was off her stride if both a seedy rat and a twittering robin could sneak up on her.

"Go away, Damask." Bell took a conscious step back, further into the shadows, where the bird could not see her annoyed grimace. The squirrel had yet to rise from the tunnel floor, though labored breathing, like the gasps of a drowning beast, had replaced his hacking fit. That was a bit disconcerting. She'd kicked the green-eared idiot hard, but certainly not that hard…right? "This isn't your concern."

The minstrel's bright eyes flickered from the rigid dormouse to the wheezing squirrel, then back again in the gloom. "Comrades come to blows are heroes in death throes," he quoted, and Bell felt her hackles rise at the old saying.

Stalking forward, pulling a determined mask over her features, Bell grabbed Sailpaw's arm and hauled him up roughly. The squirrel's head rolled to one side and she could see drool dripping from his chin before he managed to stand on his own.

"Are you…all right, sir?" Although her anger simmered like a banked fire, the Captain's sudden deterioration had her on edge. The skin beneath his damp fur burned.

"Fine," the Highlander replied huskily, jerking away and jamming himself up against the wall for support. "Fine…guh…"

"Sir?" The dormouse leaned forward, but he placed a paw on her chest and pushed her gently, but firmly away.

"I'm fine…I said." He sounded thoroughly unconvincing. "I jist need a mom' -- geh! -- t'catch me breath."

"Really?" Damask pried and Bell had a mind to flash her blade at the intrusive nag. "You don't look all that 'fine', Captain. Perhaps I could—"

"Speak yer peace, birdy!" Sailpaw's exclamation devolved into hacking, but he recovered quickly. "Hihn… Yer here fer a reason, aye? Speak!"

"Or leave us alone if it's nothing of consequence," Bell added, not looking at Damask lest it be encouragement.

"But—!" The urgent tone dragged her gaze to the robin.

"What?" the dormouse asked when he did not continue immediately, her mind jumping to the most dire conclusions. Had something happened while she was trying to convince Sailpaw to see reason? _Oh, Fates…_ What if Deadtail was already making good on his threat. "What is it? What's happened? Something back at the feast? Tell me!" she ordered, body tensing, ready to spring to action.

"Oh, I apologize for the intrusion, Bellona!" Damask lamented. "But it's terrible!" Her paw came up to the hilt of her dirk. This was bad. Very, very bad. Sailpaw didn't sound like he was fit to fight, and if the other slaves had been hurt somehow… "That wretched stoat has stolen my beloved!"

It took a moment for this outrageous statement to make any sort of sense. Five seconds passed, then her brows furrowed and she demanded incredulously, "What?"

"I know." The bird nodded miserably. "I couldn't believe it either. I turned my head but for a moment from her radiant visage, and before I could rise from my seat, the cretin clad in chain had his dirty paws and eyes all over her. Oh, Bellona, you're a—" he considered something for a moment, then nodded dubiously to himself and continued in a voice that dripped honey, but buzzed with wasps beneath, "a _fair_ maiden. What must I do to bring my beloved back to my wings? Should I challenge the foul interloper to a duel? I do apologize for interrupting, but I so desperately needed the council of a creature I could trust."

"Hrgh!" Sailpaw's pained gasp as he clutched at his own throat saved the dormouse from having to brain the bird for the back-pawed compliment in his tone. The squirrel fell again to all fours and Bell and Damask approached quickly. "Stay…geh…stay back!"

The dormouse froze instantly at the command, but the robin was not so clever.

He hopped closer. "Err... Captain? Sir? You look --" The bird took another hop, dipped his head down and turned his beak up, peering into the squirrel's eyes. "Your eyes look red, sir, like you've--"

He trilled fearfully and skipped back in a most undignified way as the captain's teeth snapped shut where his face had been only moments before.

"Sir!" Bell's fur bristled as she caught the stench of some sickness rolling off her old friend. It was stronger even than his usual musk, or she wouldn't have noticed it. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong…? Geh!" His tongue lolled out and saliva dripped from the end as he panted harshly. "Lotta thin's wrong, lassie. I'm no' feelin' -- gurh! -- I'm no' feelin' meself, ye ken? I'm like as t'say… ungh, I want t'bite ye, lassie. Oh, me teeth're itching somethin' fierce an' I cannae swallow withoot it burnin' Geh…"

"I'll fetch help, sir!" Damask offered, whether out of concern or cowardice, Bell could not tell.

"Stay yerself, birdy!" Sailpaw snarled, fixing the robin with a feral grin as he spoke through clenched teeth. "Nae need -- guh -- t'leave a bonnie wee lassie…alone with me. Heh! Urk! I have t'say… I've nivver felt like this b'fore. Bitin' beasties…" he licked his lips and more spit oozed to the stone floor, "s'fer vermin, aye? Like tha' weasel. Tha' boggin' -- ergh -- fish-eyed toad o' a weasel. Only tryin' t'reach fer a bit moor vi'dles. Guh! Ye cannae blame a lad fer fillin' his… his stoomach. Hihn…"

Bell drew her dirk and moved to place herself between Sailpaw and Damask. Something was terribly wrong with the squirrel and from the look in his eyes, this did not bode well for the robin. "The wretch, tho'. Ye know," the captain continued, holding up his paw and looking at the back closely, "he bit me. How's tha', eh?" He coughed weakly, then his head shot up with an unnatural energy.

"Hihn…hihn… I think I ken anither beastie wha' deserves a bite." He rose on unsteady footpaws, teeth glistening, fur dark with sweat, the sweet scent of disease pulsing from every gland.

"Stand down, sir." Bell growled, stepping fully in front of the minstrel. "Stand down, now, or else!"

"Moor threats, lassie?" the squirrel panted, a genuine note of hurt in his voice. "Guh… Ye'd best run, Bell." His ears went flat along his skull and he grabbed his head, grimacing. "I'm no' meself."

"Bellona, get out of the way!" Damask tried to shield her with his wings as Sailpaw lunged recklessly forward. This only succeeded in hindering her movements and sending them both crashing to the ground, the Highlander's oppressive weight crushing down.

"Get off, you bla—!"

Boomboom_boom_!

The rapid drum beats halted Bell mid-curse as she struggled with Sailpaw's… unmoving form. Every fur on her body stood on end.

Boomboom_boom_!

The wild fever that had lit the captain's eyes a moment before had been extinguished. She felt a wetness seeping into her fur from him. No longer just sweat, but something more. The metallic tang of blood invaded her senses.

Boomboom_boom_! The drums insisted, drawing closer from the opposite direction of the cave city.

_Oh, Fates,_ Bell thought, the horrible realization dawning on her as she shoved the squirrel's corpse aside and scrambled to her footpaws. She shuddered when she saw the spear thrust through his chest. _The last thing I said to him…_ This was why she didn't care. _Not at all!_

_Liar._ Sailpaw's glassy eyes accused as another spear came whistling out of the dark and nearly impaled her. She had no tactics, no idea what was going on. Only the blood and the dark and the drums.

A feeling she had not felt for fifteen seasons rose up and threatened to consume her.

_I'm not afraid,_ a very small voice whispered inside her.

Another spear skimmed her shoulder and she more sensed large creatures moving just out of sight. Roused by the distraction from her stupor, the dormouse yanked the still-dazed Damask to his footclaws, screamed at him to follow, and fled back toward the underground city. Whatever was coming, she had to warn everybeast.

At least while she had a goal, she could pretend that adrenaline and purpose drove her footpaws, not the terror of an unknown foe. One whose powers extended to stealing the life of an invincible creature.

The old warriors died together. He'd promised after Freyr. Promised he wouldn't leave her alone.

She hated him even as her eyes and throat burned, betraying her common sense. _The lying blackguard!_


	37. Morlocks

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 37. Morlocks**

_by Venril _

"Prakvi! Pratcha Vikvi! Where get yi?" The undersized little rat reached out for the third time that night and tried to yank Venril's saber off his belt, and for the third time, Venril swatted his paw away. Undeterred, the rat resumed chattering in that peculiar dialect the cavebeasts had. "Prakvi ihn talky? Talktalk, Prakvi!"

"'Prakvi' is trying to keep down the food you gave him by taking a walk after dinner. 'Prakvi' is in a bad mood because he's stuck underground where there's no light and nobody speaks normally and his remaining hordebeast is a cad who—" Venril broke off his complaint as the runty rodent began to giggle.

"Now Prakvi talktalk! Prakvi iv talky! Where get yi?" The rodent's next act was to yet again try to take Venril's saber. Venril twisted away again, scowling.

"Look…if I show you the saber, will you stop trying to steal it from me?" The rat looked eager but not like he understood, so Venril tried again.

"I...show…you…the yi…" the stoat said slowly, pointing to himself, the rat and the saber in sequence.

The rodent began to clap "Prakvi—"

Venril held up a paw. "Then you…no stealsteal." Venril pantomimed reaching out to take something, but then snatched his paw back. This time, the rat seemed to get the idea. Venril unhooked the saber and its scabbard from his belt and handed it to the rat, who struggled to lift it with his underdeveloped arms.

Looking more closely at the rat's face, Venril was surprised to see that he seemed to be in his juvenile years. When the rat had first jumped into the seat next to Venril's at the feast and started peppering him with unintelligible chatter, Venril had assumed him to be only a small kit, but it seemed as though the cavedwellers were just small and poorly fed. _Although if he has to eat food like that every day, it's no wonder he's small_. The rat had started to get up from the table when Venril had gone to comfort Liza, but an elder had grabbed onto his arm and the rat had sat back down. He had still been at the table when Venril came back.

The rat was currently touching and sniffing the holstered saber, looking at it closely. Venril decided to try some more rudimentary communication. Venril pointed at himself. "Venril. Veeennnnrrriillll," he said, saying it more slowly the second time and dragging out syllables.

The rat shook his head and handed back the saber, chittering and pointing at Venril. "Iy Pratcha Vikvi! Pratcha...Vikvi." As he said the first word, the rat held his paw a short ways over the ground, and at the second word pointed at Venril, and then at a cavedweller stoat some ways away from them. "Pratcha Vikvi iy Prakvi!"

Venril nodded, finally understanding what "Prakvi" meant. It was a contraction, probably meant something like 'Little Stoat' judging from the rat's gestures. Venril found himself not minding the title as much as he normally would have. It wasn't the worst thing another beast had ever called him."

The rat pointed to himself. "Iy Mripat."

Venril finally felt like he was getting somewhere. He gestured widely at the dwellings of the cavebeasts. "Iy……?" He allowed his voice to trail off exaggeratedly, hoping to convey a question.

BoomboomBOOM!

Before Mripat could answer, there was a sudden pair of drumbeats followed very quickly by a much louder drumbeat. BoomboomBOOM! Another sequence of drumbeats, followed closely by another. Then came the sound of beasts yelling and running to another area of the cavebeast city, near where the survivors of the cavein had entered. Venril ran with the others, and Mripat followed closely on his heels.

Coming to where everybody was gathered, Venril noticed the rest of the survivors, including Eliza and Verand. The ferret was hovering practically right over the marten's shoulder, and Venril felt a surge of irritation that was strengthened by how much Liza seemed to be trying to ignore or avoid Verand. However, Venril was quickly distracted from his vexing subordinate by a rapidly brightening light in the tunnel up ahead. It started out fairly dim, but quickly grew so bright that it was almost painful to look at it. At the same time, the drumbeats grew louder and more frequent.

BoomboomBOOM! BoomboomBOOM! BoomboomBOOM!

Venril chanced a glance down, pushing through the crowd to get to Liza and Verand. Clapping his paw on Verand's shoulder, he whispered into the ferret's ear. "Verand, please leave her alone. We don't want any more trou—"

The stoat was caught totally surprised when Verand grabbed his paw and wrenched it down, hard, almost flooring Venril. The ferret leaned in and whispered back. "No warlords here, Venril. You're only captain when you're in a horde." He shoved the stoat back, causing him to bump into several cavebeasts, and stalked away.

Venril gave Liza an apologetic glance as he righted himself. The almost-but-not-quite invisible sigh she gave in response gave Venril a cold, tight feeling in his stomach that didn't lift even when she made a pretty decent effort at looking appreciative. "Thank you for trying anyway, Captain Venril."

Most of the other beasts in the crowd barely noticed the whole spectacle, distracted as they were with the light and noise in the tunnel. Venril, however, noticed that one beast, Rath, seemed suspicious of something. The scarred ferret was looking at the tunnel like the rest of the crowd, but every so often he would glance around, as though expecting to see something elsewhere. Before Venril could question him, however, there was a sudden sharp scream from the rear of the crowd, followed quickly by another, along with several from the village itself.

"Srechrrl! Srechrrl!" Someone in the crowd began screaming the same word again and again, and the entire crowd instantly devolved into anarchy. Beasts began to scatter in all directions, pushing each other out of the way in an attempt to escape.

Venril felt Mripat grab his paw. "Srechrrl! Prakvi pyr Mripat RUN!" Venril still had no idea what a Srechrrl was, but he decided to just comply. As he and the rat began to run, he noticed that the drumbeats had gotten even faster and louder and were now almost deafening. The stoat barely noticed as the dormouse officer Bellona came running out of a side tunnel, robin bard in tow, screaming her head off in an attempt to warn everybeast about the threat most of them were already fleeing. She seemed much more panicked than he would have predicted given her tough, no-nonsense attitude when they had first met, and Venril wondered what had happened to put such fear into her. He shoved the thought away and focused on running to wherever Mripat was taking him.

Up ahead of himself and Mripat, Venril finally saw what the commotion was about as a dark shape suddenly leapt out and tackled a cavedweller weasel to the ground, stabbing the weasel in the stomach with a crude spear and then tearing into the unfortunate beast's neck with its fangs. Venril let out a cry and the shape looked up. Venril was shocked to see that it was a stoat like himself, light-colored and wiry, with a build more muscular than that of the cavedwellers. It gave a snarl that seemed feral, but Venril was sure that there was something more than animal ferocity in its eyes. Something like…amusement?

Venril had no more time to ponder, as the beast suddenly yanked its spear from the abdomen of the dying weasel, leapt up and began to run at Venril and Mripat. The two promptly turned tail and ran. Out of the corner of his eye, Venril saw one of the blindfolded tribe leaders run right into a pair of ferals, who just kept still and waited for him to blunder into them. He suddenly understood what the drums were for. _They want to make them blind AND deaf too._

As Venril and Mripat ran, the undersized rodent suddenly tripped on a rock and sprawled out. Venril barely noticed, continuing to run. However, the rat yelled out for him.

"Helpme Prakvi, helphelp!"

Venril turned around to see Mripat staring at him in absolute terror and desperation, the feral stoat bearing down on him. The rat reached out a paw for him, and something in Venril went taut. The stoat pulled out his saber and began to jog back towards the rat and the feral stoat. The feral halted as it saw Venril, then redirected its charge towards him. Venril barely got out of the way in time, but managed to slice it across the shoulder, eliciting a shriek of pain. Venril didn't let it recover. He ran up to it, and wielding his saber more like a club than a sword, began to hit it again and again with the blade. The feral tried to stab him several times with the stone-headed spear it carried, but the spear didn't even scratch Venril's chainmail vest, marking the first time the heavy, uncomfortable garment had done anything useful. Venril continued to bludgeon the creature with his sword, compensating for his lack of polish with zeal. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, the thing went still.

Venril let out a shout as something collided with him, but it was just Mripat, who hugged the stoat with surprising firmness. "Prakvi helphelp Mripat! Prakvi—" That was the end of what Venril could understand, as the rat began to chatter on in his own language far too quickly for Venril to keep up. However, Vernil tried not to get too caught up. He tapped Mripat on the shoulder, looking around for any more ferals.

"Mripat, we need to hide!" The rat didn't seem to understand, so Venril pantomimed hiding. The rat grabbed his paw and pulled him after him, presumably to some pre-arranged hiding place. As he ran, watching for any more ferals, Venril noticed a whole group of the beasts dragging a pair of bodies away. He shuddered and refocused on trying to avoid their fate. Mripat led him into a dwelling, where there was a large pile of firewood. The two hid behind it, waiting for the noises from outside to subside.

As he hid, Venril tried to figure out why he had turned around to fight off the feral stoat. He had won the fight, but he had really gotten lucky that the feral hadn't been quicker on the uptake about swords and armor. Maybe it was just that for the first time someone had asked him for help and really meant it, and had actually thought that he could be useful.

After some time had passed, and there were no more sounds of screaming or drums from outside, Venril and Mripat emerged from hiding and wandered back out into the courtyard. Looking around, Venril didn't notice any of the cave-in survivors as being missing. He saw Liza, looking unhappy but safe, and felt a twinge of guilt for not grabbing her and taking her to go hide someplace.

The stoat jumped as wad of saliva hit the ground next to his footpaw. He looked up to see Rath scowling down at him. "And where were you hiding this whole time?"

Venril felt a wave of indignation wash over him. "Hey! I wasn't hi--I wasn't JUST hiding. If I had been, I wouldn't have these!" He pulled out his saber and showed Rath the bloodstains, and also gestured to the spots of blood on his clothing.

Rath looked less than impressed, but the edge of his contempt was softened. "Guess that's the best we're gonna get out of you, stoat."

The stoat bristled. "Well, I know I'm not a famous gladiator, but I'm not supposed to be! I'm a clerk!" He hadn't quite planned to blurt out the last bit, but now he couldn't seem to stop, even though a few beasts had started to glance over at him. "I'm not a proper hordebeast! I never had any training! I sat around with a quill and wrote things down until that stupid, stupid captain got drunk and made the Baron mad and now I'm supposed to magically be a captain!" The stoat's anger was starting to change to frustration and sadness. "It doesn't make sense, but I'm doing the best I can here."

"We done with the self-pity here?" Rath asked gruffly. However, the ferret's expression then softened just a pit. "You could be doing worse'n' you are, I guess."

"Really?" The stoat had meant for this to sound as desperate as it did. However, he decided to swallow his pride and just ask the question that had been on his mind for a while now. "Err, Rath? Would you, uh, would you be willing to help me learn to fight?"


	38. A Hidden Sun that Burns and Burns

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 38. A Hidden Sun that Burns and Burns**

_by Revel _

Revel wondered what geese ate. It had to be something plentiful, for they were always waddling. She, in her opinion, had never waddled before, until now. But she had also never eaten so much that she couldn't swallow another bite, until now.

Geese had to be happy creatures, right up until the moment they were eaten. Joy was a constant force in nature, moving from one thing to another. If two stoats shared one goose, that one goose's happiness would transfer to both stoats - but fill them less than if one stoat had eaten the entire goose.

Revel found this revelation fascinating. Where did brkich come into it? And stew, and corn and potatoes? Whatever brkich was, it must have been happy before it was put in her bowl. That meant that even, yes, apples were happy.

Coconuts probably weren't very happy, she decided.

And, of course, she was happy. The only thing that could have made her happier was being above ground, frolicking off in some meadow with Nivard, so long as he didn't hit her. Oh, and her tail and her head. She would be happier if those stopped hurting.

The feast was long over, and the one-eyed hedgehog and his companions now led them all further into the massive cave system. The distraction of drums had not concerned Revel much - less beasts at the table meant more food for her. Afterwards, the blindfolded beasts had come back to collect her and some of Venril's horde who had the same idea. Their leader, the skinny stoat, did not seem much put out by their lack of discipline - he was beset on all sides by yammering Fritterik. Revel grimaced at the display, unable to figure out why they were so keen on him. She supposed he was a little handsome, lacking any of Nivard's nasty scarring, but how could they stand his piercing, yet watery smell?

As they left the tables behind, Fritterik came out of the shadows and put the torches out, then fell upon the leftovers. The sounds of their eating became like the roar of a river - too loud to hear anybeast talk over, but too much in the background to be a bother.

"Listen to them," one of the older woodland slaves grumbled, once they had gone far enough to hear themselves again. "Barely five minutes ago under attack, and now stuffin' their faces like Redwall's kitchen is bein' locked up for a season after today."

Another slave groaned. "Gwuar, you had to go and mention Redwall, din't you. Mind, I was so starving I coulda sworn that brkich stuff tasted like summer salad..."

"What's that?" Birch asked. She flicked her ears. "Oh. Nobeast is talking to me. As usual."

The tunnel began to slope upwards, all chatter ceasing as everybeast fought to keep their full stomachs contending against gravity; a fight made all the harder with limbs still sore from their earlier digging efforts. The walls narrowed, forcing them into a single-file line for a minute or two. Revel would have grabbed the tail ahead of her for support, but they moved ahead more quickly than she could ever hope to in her current state. Deadtail began to push her from behind, growling.

"Come on, Crinky, keep movin'..."

The passageway opened up again, and a voice to Revel's right startled her into bristling.

"Turn to the left, keep thy paw on the wall. Watch thy step."

"H'come?" Revel said, even as she peered over the edge.

They were on a ledge overlooking the main cavern. It was quite a drop. There were dark shapes scattered below, little mud huts filled with the faint glow of cooking fires, with surprisingly little smoke seeping out. Revel could hear the feasting continuing on one side of the vast courtyard, and, straining her eyes in the gloom, could see the entry tunnel where the orange beast, the wildcat, had died. Where the _Srechrrl Mivik_ had come from, as she understood it.

One of the beasts who had witnessed the surprise attack had told it to the final diners. Revel had thought it all a bit silly. Why would these creatures try to eat each-other, when they had such fantastic hantz? The stoat turned and eyed the hedgehog beside her. Well...

"Let's get movin'," Deadtail growled again. Murmurs of assent sounded behind him.

Revel turned and put her paw against the wall, staying far from the edge. The only beast to disregard the hedgehog's warning was the squirrel Birch, who refused to put her paw on anything, despite her wounded ankle. The ledge vanished into another tunnel, this time with a blindfolded mouse giving directions for where to turn. Revel briefly contemplated giving the beast a good kick to see how long it took for him to land, before somebeast tugged her tail, sending her scurrying on with a yelp.

This tunnel went upwards, too, but it was wider, and they went in rows of three or so.

Revel hugged her favourite extremity, rubbing her paws up and down, brushing the fur back and forth, noting the feel of the crink's angle and the misshapen bruises. She brushed the now-untwitchable black tip, whispering soft reassurances to it, as if that would help it heal.

"Zichit, like pritter, yipyip?"

Revel glanced up at a female weasel who was walking between her and the old rat, Deadtail.

"Zichit," she burbled in reply. Pronunciation gave her little trouble, as it had for Matukhana and others from Venril's horde. They treated it like an impossible language they didn't understand. To Revel, it was vocalizations of things she knew and felt constantly. It was the sound of play, of leaping and racing through grass taller than she was; it was the sound of sleep and yearning for the morning while hoping the moon's light never faded.

_Zichit_ was a new dress, or a cool stream of water after the desert. It was Nivard's chest, and the blanket he had let her curl up in on the floor that night. It was her tail, silky-smooth fur kept in fine condition no matter where she found herself. If one's tail wasn't soft, then you had to wonder: just what else was so important that you didn't have a few minutes to take care of it better?

"Zichit," Deadtail said, the word sounding gravelly in his throat. "What's that?"

The weasel just laughed. She grabbed Deadtail's tail - causing him no small amount of concern - and patted it.

"Silly keekee," she said. 'Silly' was a word most Fritterik at the table had picked up early on. "Not zichit."

"Not... broken?" Deadtail said, tugging his tail back.

Revel snorted. "Wicky-chivvers, you're thick - "

The weasel clapped her paws over her ears and ran back down the tunnel, upsetting the procession.

"What was that about?" Deadtail asked. "What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say nothin' to 'er," Revel said defensively. "I said 'wicky-chivvers', but that was to _you_."

"Well, what does it mean?"

"It's... just 'wicky-chivvers'. Why's it got to mean anythin'?"

"Hm," the rat said. He left it at that. Revel snorted in annoyance.

They seemed to travel upwards for eternity. The one-eyed hedgehog explained that most of the off-shooting chambers they passed by were already homes to specific Fritter, or families of them - all the empty chambers for their guests to sleep in were at the highest levels.

Passing by opening after opening, each one dark as the last, Revel caught snatches of noise and smells. She sneezed at one of them - "Wicky weasels," she complained, rubbing her nose. Deadtail ignored the comment, until he chanced a look behind and saw a weasel stick its head out and watch them warily. The rat asked her what the next chamber had.

"Ferrets," Revel replied. Sure enough, when Deadtail peered at the shape lingering in the chamber's entrance, he caught a glimpse of white mask. His expression of awe was hard to suppress. Revel giggled and made a point of flaunting her ability at every chamber they passed.

"All I can smell is brkich," the rat admitted.

"You 'ave to... to look past - to smell past - what you know is there," she explained. "Just like listenin' to trees. Cedars rattle dif'rent than pines, so if you ignore their sounds, y'can hear where a cypress or a fir is growin'."

Deadtail nodded, as though this made perfect sense.

"Whatever you say."

Revel stopped the game after a dozen or so more chambers. She found herself growing too tired, and yet they were only on the third level. From up here, she could see the ledges below. They dipped and rose, so on the same path somebeast could slide quite easily down to the next ledge, and in other areas, break their neck. And yet some parts of the walls were riddled with pockholes, and Fritter clambered up and down them with ease. Looking closer at the other side, which had its own system of ledges, she saw there were actually some wooden ladders connecting shorter ledges together, and even a few rope bridges spanning the chasm between the walls.

"Aaaare we there yet?" somebeast asked, their 'are' drawn out in a yawn.

"Thy chambers await upon the next ledge," the hedgehog replied. He was now behind Revel, though at what point he squirmed his way through to make it there, she didn't know. "If thee wishes, thee could climb as the Fritter do."

Ahead of them, Birch immediately threw herself at the pocked wall, but only made it a few feet up before sliding back down and moaning about her footpaw and crazy stoats.

Revel paid no attention to further antics; her nose caught a scent so familiar she had wandered into a chamber without thinking. Curious paws surrounded her.

"Shrip vikvi?" a voice said.

"Yikker-chip," Revel replied softly, embracing the creature. She pressed her nose into its neck and breathed in. "Mum."

"Trpcic is not thy mother," the hedgehog said, having followed Revel in. He put a paw on her shoulder. "She has never borne young. Come away, miss Revel, and let her be."

Trpcic, as the creature's name was, followed them back out onto the ledge, letting the light of the procession's torches fall upon her blindfolded face, revealing her to be a stoat. Revel's gaze lingered a while longer, until impatient beasts once again pushed her along from behind.

Revel hummed, losing herself in thought. The damp caves from earlier - and now the old stoat's smell. The smell after rain. That was important, somehow. Why had she thought the old stoat to be her mother? Revel didn't even remember her mother. It was her father who had shown her the fields and farms, who had taught her - yes, her and her brother, there had been two of them - about the forest. They had no names, no faces, no smell. They were just shapes in her memory now.

"Excuse me," the hedgehog said, once again touching her shoulder. "That song thou'rt humming. Where did thee learn of it?"

"I made it up myself," Revel snapped. She trilled a few awkward notes, eliciting an annoyed chirp from somewhere behind her.

"Does it have words?" he persisted.

"I don't know. Stop askin' stupid questions."

A low baritone noise began, as the hedgehog worked his way around the melody, humming it once through. Then he opened his mouth and sang:

"_Dream little sweetling. Dream of a valley green.  
Far o'er the mountains by the sea.  
Dream liddle one, now. One day no more thy'll roam.  
Then thy'll awake and find a home_.

"'Tis the only verse I can remember," he finished, coughing into his paw. A few of the slaves had begun to weep. Though Revel found it very pretty, and wished him to go on, the woodlander's reaction to it annoyed her. She stomped on ahead, ignoring any more from him.

They reached the fourth level soon after, the last tunnel being less of a slope and more of a simple stairway. Matukhana and his crew had already claimed one chamber, Deadtail and Rath joining them. Revel headed after them, but the hedgehog gripped her arm and pulled her onwards despite her struggles.

Verand and the remainder of Venril's hordebeasts swiftly occupied the second chamber. This left the woodland slaves, who were arguing hotly for their own chamber to not be shared with vermin - the dormouse, Bellona, strangely quiet about it all. Damask reluctantly followed; Eliza, who had not yet entered any, seemed to relax a little more.

Venril was still being pestered by curious Fritterik. The hedgehog shooed most of them away, except for the female weasel Revel recognized as the one who had ran away earlier, a stone-faced young otter, and the one little rat who was practically hanging off Venril's chain-mail.

"Follow Zhipzi," the hedgehog instructed, steering Revel to stand by Venril. "Special chambers have been prepared for thee."

Venril stared, aghast. Revel held her nose closed.

"What about me?" Eliza said. "I can't sleep with any of those - those..." Eliza stammered, pointing back at the chambers the corsairs had taken over. Her paw swung around and fixated on Revel. "And I absolutely _refuse_ to share accommodations with her again."

Revel stuck her tongue out and scrunched up her face.

"There are more chambers for thee on the fifth level, if thy wish."

Harrumphing, the pine marten grabbed the torch from the Zhipzi and stalked off to find the next cave leading upwards. She paused at a ladder and whispered, "Ah," before climbing up into the darkness with entirely too much elegance despite her occupied paw.

"Wicky-chivvers," Revel muttered, trying to edge away from Venril. Zhipzi keened and held her paws against her ears again.

"I would ask thee," the hedgehog said, stepping in front of Revel, "not to utter such things about the Chivkis."

"What, wicky-chiv_mmff_!"

"Hush," the hedgehog said, pressing his paw against her mouth. He pulled it away again as Revel's jaws snapped. He glared at her as best he could with one eye. "Where did thee learn that word?"

"I'unno. H'come you smell like stew?"

He rustled his headspikes in laughter. "Who doesn't? Brkich has a strong flavour. I see thee enjoyed it well."

Revel looked down at her stomach as the hedgehog poked at it. Her eyes didn't follow the paw as it moved away again, but instead focused on her tunic, and the now considerable gash in the side that exposed her white underbelly fur.

"Oh," she said quietly, tracing the edges with a claw.

She allowed herself to be led by the paw into the next chamber, which had a small fireplace crackling in the middle of the floor, and scant bedding spread around in the corner. The hedgehog smiled at the two stoats.

"I shall see thee in the..." He stopped and stared at the ceiling. "When thee awake. There is much to discuss, about the Srechrrl, and your being here. I should have much to tell thee, and I wish thee to tell me much of the outside world. But, later! Rest thyselves now. Just call for Zhipzi and Tishka, and they shall see to thy needs."

He left them then, and whispered instructions to the other two, who snickered and followed him out. Mripat followed upon hearing his name called.

The stoats merely stood there in awkward silence trying to avoid each-other's eyes. Revel flumped to the ground beside the fire and picked at her tunic, cursing under her breath. Venril investigated the bedding in the corner, and sighed as he picked out a rather large specimen of crawlie.

Letting go of her tunic, Revel reached into the fire and pulled out a small stick, flinging it viciously at Venril's back. It clinked off his chain-mail, and he turned around, startled. He quickly stomped out the glowing embers that fell near the bedding, and opened his mouth to chide her behaviour when another stick flew at his head. He ducked this one by chance, then darted away from the bedding after kicking it away.

"What? What are you mad at me for? I haven't done anything to you!"

"Your smell 'urts an' this is all yer fault!"

Venril looked towards the exit with longing. The chamber wasn't very big, and there was little room for him to get safely past Revel without getting in range of her claws. She leered at him.

"Yah, go boil your 'ead, Venril! Sissy-skirts!"

"Oh, hush!" he snapped. "It is _not_ my fault! If you slaves hadn't escaped and ran into these caves, we could be working on finding timbers to fix the ship! It's... It's _your_ fault!"

Revel snarled and flicked another chunk of charcoal at him. Venril flinched, ducking and covering his face with his paws, and it bounced off his armour.

"That's it," he said, striding off to the exit regardless of the danger in getting within grasping range of the female. "You out there, um! Tishka, I need to speak to you about my accommodations. I shall be sleeping elsewhere!"

The otter appeared in a blink, took in the situation, and grinned at Revel as she began to lever another stick out of the fire. He nodded and gestured for Venril to follow - the stoat only just managed to skirt around Revel, the next projectile missing his head by inches and spewing ashes against the wall.

Otter and stoat's voice withered away, leaving Revel to stare blankly at the fire. She didn't want to sleep anymore. She wanted to claw at something, and throw things. She threw another stick at the wall, but it didn't make her feel any better about her tunic. She began to tug it off, thinking to throw it in the fire - that would surely make Eliza hurry up and find her a new dress! - when she caught sight of the weasel staring at her.

"What d'you want?"

"Pritter vikvik? Pritter?" The weasel pointed at Revel's stomach.

"'m a stoat, so what?"

"Prakvi ihn Vakka-shin?"

"Hah!" Revel said. "Vakka-shin iv Nivard."

"Im vikvi Nivard?"

"'E's not 'ere," Revel pouted. "'E's probably still outside eatin' coconuts an' lyin' in th'sun."

Zhipzi stared at her, her expression vacant.

"Yiriki-wizzle lots pritter," the weasel said conversationally, patting her own stomach. "No mooore!" She held her paw out, pad flat towards the ground, level with her waist. "Pratcha wizzle now."

"Aye," Revel sighed, flicking a strip of torn tunic - clearly not listening or watching. "I need to patch it up..."

The weasel stomped her footpaw, the universal sign of annoyance. Shaking her head at Revel, she went to the mouth of the cave and began chittering rapidly, a low, but loud bubbling of syllables to herself.

Revel crawled into the bedding and flicked a crawlie away as it dared to tread on her. Laying back, she closed her eyes. It feld good to be warm for once - though she'd never thought she'd admit to that after walking through the desert. Her stomach, for once, was perfectly still. The only noise it made was the contented digestion of hantz and brkich, and that was something Revel was fine with.

She had almost dozed off when Zhipzi returned, calling out "Rivvil" softly.

Revel drew her footpaws and tail closer as shapes began to flit about beyond the firelight behind the weasel. Zhipzi grabbed one and turned about triumphantly. The young kit squinted its eyes shut as it was whirled about towards the light, and Revel did the same - the creature was no great feat of biology when it came to visual pleasure. Its naked body was still half pink, the fur not yet thickened; the stub of a tail did little for its privacy.

"Pratcha," the weasel beamed, coming forward to stand over Revel. "No more pritter!"

"'s disgustin'!" Revel said, still wincing away as the infant weasel was waggled at her. "Take it away!"

"Lookit pratcha wizzle! You many pritterik, soon pratcha vikvik, yipyip!"

"Yorf," the kit said, as its mother hoisted it up in a too-jerky movement.

Revel stared at her tunic in horror.

Zhipzi lowered her child and let it scamper off.

"Uhhr," she said, "you lick?" She held up her own skirt and stuck her tongue out, miming the motions, and pointed at the stain on Revel's tunic. "Lotsa lick pritterik - haha, wizzle-chip yik!"

Revel, at that moment, just began to cry. She was too tired and even though she was full, she was no longer happy. Her tunic was ruined completely, and she had no dress, she had no Nivard, and she missed the forest terribly. And those were the least of her problems.

Zhipzi tip-pawed out of the chamber again, perhaps to hustle her brood back to sleep.

Though her tears had always meant pain, and sobs had always meant sadness, she felt neither at the moment. Her stomach had begun to move again, as if awakened by the faint smell of milk, and with it, a new emotion overtook Revel.

She had never been so scared before. She could feel it - or them - moving now, the flutterings full-on wing beats.

* * * * * *

"Lovely morn, isn't it?" Rath said, waving his axe her. Revel peered up at the sky, and counted the clouds. Six, plus a flock of geese.

"Aye, lovely morn," she replied, and together they headed into the cornfield. There they found the hedgehog's cottage, where the skinny one was preparing her father-in-law. Eliza was cutting onions, and when she looked up, she had no eyes. Revel laughed at the marten's misfortune until her stomach hurt.

"Food aplenty," Suellyn said. "How are the young 'uns today?"

Revel lay down on the table beside the dead hedgehog.

"They're stupid an' noisy," she said. Rath gave her a coconut to hold as Suellyn came around the table and began to cut away Revel's tunic, then her white tummy fur. Eliza reached in and drew out a baby stoat, and then put it in the stew pot.

"Is that all?" Revel asked, trying to sit up. As she swept her legs off the table, more of them began to spill out of her, all over the floor - dozens of the creatures, until the kitchen was full and Rath and Suellyn and Eliza vanished under the flood. Revel sobbed and tried to close her stomach, but when she did, it just grew bigger until it burst completely.

* * * * * *

She opened her eyes and stared at the wall, watching the shadow of her ear dance to the crackle-beat of the fire. She did not stir, but it was some time before her breath slowed once more, and she closed her eyes again.


	39. There's evil in the air

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 39. There's evil in the air and thunder in sky  
**_  
by Damask_

The knight upon his knee did bend  
And lay before the maiden fair  
His heart. His favors he did send  
And yet, it was as if he spoke to air.

For even in his dreams he saw  
A villain dark with black intent.  
Who took from him his maiden's paw  
Our hero's only bond to her was rent.

So now as he awakes from this foul dream  
He wishes dark reality weren't true.  
And coming from that blackness now, it seems  
A voice that is familiar. _You--_

_You!_

Damask's eyes snapped open. His land of dream departed. The verses that had shimmered under the surface of his consciousness drifted away like echoed notes. The image of that dream remained, however: a fair paw encased within a darker one. The sight was past burning in his vision, it was a scar. Red and pulsing, it seethed, drawing his mind's eye over and --

_Snap out of it!_ The voice that had intruded into his dreams was still here. The robin closed his eyes and listened -- only breathing of his bunkmates -- he was alone. Which meant...

_Ah, see the great Damascinous. How your sonnets and verses woo, eh?_ the voice was soft and gentle, like falling leaves, but sharp as an autumn wind. It was familiar -- like his voice, but more subdued. It echoed about in his mind, triggering old memories: scents of a forest, feelings of fear and loneliness, even old faces. Damask shivered. It was cunning. It replied to his own thoughts, _I survive._

The robin shook his head, muttering under his breath, "No... she was simply overwhelmed. And that's when --"

_That vermin stepped in._ The Softleaves voice finished for him.

"I don't like that word..."

_Why?_ the voice queried, _It has nothing to do with species, right?_ It paused, and when Damask didn't reply, continued, _He took her. You saw how he waited until she was alone to confront her. You saw how he took her paw. He is a base demon._

The bird was silent for a moment, considering this. "Even so," he began, "how could I confront him? Or her? Call her untrue? I couldn't! I still can't believe it."

_You don't have to say anything to her._ The voice was soft, conciliatory. _All you have to do is eliminate the competition._

"Kill him?" The bird's voice rose, startling a nearby sleeper. Damask held his breath then, waiting for a shout that never came. After a moment, he added, "That's wrong! I can't do that."

_Don't kill him,_ the Softleaves voice explained, _just... persuade him. We've always been persuasive, right? Show him that she's_ your _maiden to love. That your love is true._ The voice grew hard. _Let him know that you know what he is. And if he touches her--_

"I'll take care of him." The bird nodded once, and took a few quiet hops towards where Bellona was slumbering, suffering similar dreams, from her quiet moans. Damask laid a soothing claw on her shoulder; the pressure settled the dormouse back into a deeper slumber. He gave a small smile before moving the claw down to her dirk's handle. With the greatest of care, he removed it, dipping his beak down to grab the handle.

_Excellent. We know the fiend retired the next level up. Now, find him and show him..._

And so our hero bravely crept  
Into the den and durance vile.  
Where many maiden's souls have wept  
But yet by chance the beast doth sleep a while.

Damask paused just inside the entrance to Venril's chambers, looking to the shadows and listening for movement. The captain may have had the room to himself, but who knew what minions may lay in wait in the room.

Damask forced himself to stand and wait, counting off his heartbeats, willing his body to be calm and not betray him. Gripping the dirk tighter in his beak, the bird shuffled forward, worried that even his normal hop might be too loud.

He was over Venril now, and felt a slight unease. He looked... small. As if it was possible that he was what he seemed: stuck in a situation that was too much for him -- smaller than life, as it were.

_But you know what he can do._

The bird closed his eyes for just a moment, trying to compose himself. A light paw in a dark one... His eyes flew open again, fleeing that ever-present sight. _I know what he's_ done.

One step closer brought him right next to the stoat's head. Damask lowered his beak and grabbed the handle of the dirk with one claw. Setting his beak, he brought the point to Venril's neck. The muscles twitched away from the point, as if the body was trying to save itself from a neckless existence.

"Hark, Villain."

The stoat gave a sleepy groan and began to turn his head. When flesh encountered blade, however, he cried out, bringing his paw to his neck and jerking away from the point. A pair of bleary, beady eyes snapped open, resting on the tip of the dirk. "What do you want? Wh-who's--?"

"I'll do the talking, vermin!" Damask took a one-legged hop forward, keeping the dagger in easy stabbing range. His voice was a rough hiss as he continued, "I saw you lay paws on my fair maiden, and let me tell you, if you even so much as look at her again."

"I-I-I don't know!" The captain-nee-clerk's voice was high and nervous. "I don't know what you mean."

"You dared lay a paw on her!"

The stoat's eyes darted from the blade to the bird and back, his voice starting to calm. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. If you could just lower your weapon..."

Doubt began to nibble at the edges of Damask's quest. Against the screaming protests of the Softleaves Voice, Damask began to waver. "Well, I mean, I did see you, but if you--"

As soon as the dirk was a paw's length away, Venril gave it a sharp slap on the hilt. Damask gave a squawk of alarm as the mustelid was up and pushing his feathered attacker away, snarling in disgust, "What do you take me for, bird-brains?" He paused, letting the threats from before sink in. "You think I... with Eliza?"

"I saw you with her!"

The puzzled look that fell across Venril's face did nothing to allay the bird's suspicions. "What are you talking about?"

"But... she's a maiden, not some sailor's trollop! How dare you --"

"You're kidding." The stoat began to laugh, a mirthless chuckle from deep in his chest that rose in tone and volume, each crescendo diminishing Damask's stature. "You... your _maiden_." As Damask gulped nervously, Venril continued with an incredulous tone, "Oh, this is rich. So, what, do you care for her, bird?"

The robin's eyes narrowed as he gave a low hiss, his beak dipping defensively. "More than you could comprehend, you black, vile _creature_."

"Look, bird, perhaps you didn't notice, but she doesn't have any wings." He snorted, rising to his feet and dusting himself off as he continued, "No feathers. No beak. If she wanted someone to care for her, they wouldn't be lunch."

Damask spat, his feathers ruffling in indignation. "How _dare_ you presume--"

"Get out of my sight, you pathetic excuse for a meal." Venril just shook his head, "A bird and a marten... rubbish!"

The bird hissed once more, then took to the air, flapping over to the floor, where the dirk lay. He paused before it, eyes slitted. "If you breathe a word of this to her, beast, I won't pause next time I visit you in your slumber."

"Out!"

The bird snorted once, then picked up the dirk and left with none of the slow caution of his entrance. He missed the sigh that seemed to remove any pomp from Venril, leaving him small and shaking in his bed.

-----

_You know,_ the voice whispered, smooth and gentle as a spring updraft, _not every hero relied on strength alone._

Damask paused outside of Bellona's chamber and set the dirk down. He muttered under his breath, "True. We aren't all built like badger lords. Why, even Martin himself used guile and traps."

_And recruited help._ The voice's statement interrupted Damask's musings, a harsh dissonance to his monologue. _The mouse. She's fierce enough. If you get her on your side, she could be a great help. She got the best of that vermin brute, Wrath._

"But why would she help me? She thinks... well, I can tell she wouldn't like my beloved much." The bird hopped back and forth, nervous energy radiating from him. He continued, "Besides, what would--"

_Fool!_ He was cut off by the Softleaves voice, his beak shutting at the mental rebuke. _We don't know what that vermin captain is capable of! He laid paws on your maiden._ It continued, its tone calming, _We don't know what killed Sailpaw either, do we? For all we know, Venril did it._

Black eyes shining, the bird turned his beak in the direction of the tunnel -- that place his nightmares kept revisiting -- where Sailpaw must surely still lay. "He could've done it. First he goes after Eliza, then uses Sailpaw to get to Bellona."

_Yes._

"And that Wrath works for him! He was the first one to try and kill Bellona."

_Yes._

"So, Venril. Venril's the one that's behind it all! He's trying to use the fair maids to get to me... I must tell Bellona!"

_Yes!_

The bird's chest was heaving and his eyes were darting down either tunnel, following the shadows that danced in the torchlight to a silent beat. They menaced with each movement, and from the passage behind, where the villain slept, they were dark as the foul beast's soul. It was beginning to get oppressive, this dank, twice-breathed air. "But... she trusts him, doesn't she -- Eliza."

_Yes, so we must be careful when we... remove him. Now go to the mouse-maiden. Tell her all._

The bird slunk back to his companion's bunk, transferring the blade back to a claw. The tip shook as Damask tried to line the dirk back up with its sheath.

"Next time ask, bird."

The robin gave a squawk of surprise, the dirk clattering to the ground as he hopped back from the supine mouse. "Bellona! I -- that is, I mean..."

"Save it, Damask." The warrioress rolled over, eyeing him with a critical stare. She reached down and sheathed her weapon.

"Bellon' I thought that you should know," the bird began, his voice quiet and lilting, "that it is that foul stoat--"

Bellona raised a paw to silence him, the other rubbing at her eyes. "Just... not now, Damask. No strange ideas or cryptic verses or--"

"He killed Sailpaw!"

Her head snapped up, eyes locking to his. "Who? That stoat captain? He's harmless."

"He's not! I mean, he looks it, sure, but--"

"I am," Bellona cut him off, "going to bed."

The mouse rolled back over, and Damask gave an irritated squawk to her turned shoulder. He hopped around her, dipping his beak so that it was level with her snout. "Think about it, Bell!" She gave a small jerk at that, ears pricking back to listen. "That Wrath ferret is under his command, and was the first to attack us. He is always keeping to himself and looking furtive. He talks like he's learned. And we don't know what killed Sailpaw."

"Damask..."

"It could have been poison! He was out of his mind and foaming! He was.. he said he was sick and not himself. A poisoner could've--"

"Stop it!" The mouse snapped at him, "Just shut your beak!"

Damask staggered back, a shout catching in a throat. After a moment he continued, "Bellona, I'm sorry. It's just... I don't know what he's capable of."

She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. "What do you want me to do?"


	40. Race to the Finish!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 40. Race to the Finish!  
**_  
by Rath _

"Vik'hrr Chivkis."

Rath grunted and curled up tighter in Keane's coat. There was no way of telling the time, but he could tell that it was entirely too early to be up. Whatever it was this creature wanted with him, Rath would have none of it, and that was that. The warrior added an extra snore for emphasis.

The timid tap ruined any hopes of that tactic working.

"Vik'hrr chivkis." The whispered voice grated on Rath's nerves like a blade scraping against a whetstone. Cracking his good eye open to a slit, he glared up at the cave beast silhouetted against the fire.

"What do you want?" he gritted, groping for his axe.

The irritatingly soft voice continued. "Quiet, Chivritchit. Come, come."

Rath blinked sleep away, a beam of curiosity piercing through the fog in his head. "What happened?" he croaked. "Are we in danger?" Struggling to his footpaws, he tottered toward the figure, and forced back a shiver as the eye-less features of a smiling weasel swam clearly into view inches away.

"No need worry, Vik'hrr. But must hurry. Follow me."

Tiny tendrils of excitement warmed the ferret as he trotted behind the weasel, and the two beasts plunged into darkness.

Rath shivered, but this time it was the cold that was to blame, and he huddled inside the wildcat's coat. From a boiling wasteland to a freezing one; the desert, it seemed, knew nothing but extremes. Digging his paws in the pockets of the coat as if searching for any bits of extra warmth, he found a bag of something. Retrieving it, the ferret recognized it as the same type of drawstring pouch as the one he had been given.

Rath puzzled over the bag. He couldn't really remember exactly how it had been the last time, but the bits of tattered memory were warm and he found himself wanting to feel the same way again.

A wave of guilt struck him just as he was about to inhale, but he shrugged it off. _I'm sure you wouldn't want it to go to waste, friend._ He inhaled deeply, and once again, the strong scent forced out a sneeze.

Looking up through bleary eyes, the warrior continued. Although the weasel carried a torch to light the way through the serpentine tunnels, Rath still found himself tripping and stumbling more than strictly necessary. Holding back a curse and limping as hurriedly as possible, the ferret was about to wonder just how long they were going to travel this way when the tunnel opened up into a grand cavern.

Rath gaped. A monstrous, square-shaped rock tore from the center of the cave. Craning his neck, the warrior peered up and up and up and there, past the dais carved into the top of the rock, in the ceiling, was a hole leading to the outside. Starlight sparkled and winked at him, and the ferret longed to be in the open more than ever before. He managed to tear his eyes away from the top of the rock to the bottom, where an impressive staircase about six beasts high was carved into the side, leading to the top.

"You," the ferret nearly jumped, "are lucky, Shripchiv." He turned to the weasel, and it was almost as if the mustelid noticed the inquisitive cock of his head, as she continued. "You first shrip to see Rikchiv."

Rath wasn't entirely sure what a rikchiv was, but he had already started up the curved stairway that ascended toward the top of the dais, heart pounding against his chest. By the time he reached the top he was panting, light-headed, and practically giggling with delight. _I did it!_

His breath ragged in his throat, Rath looked across the granite surface and saw his own face reflected in a murky pool that shimmered darkly underneath the night sky. The water was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He reached toward the surface.

"Vik'hrr!"

Rath jerked his paw back guiltily as the weasel caught up with him.

"Vik'hrr," the weasel whispered. "See you yikva?" The ferret followed the direction of the weasel's pointing paw toward a stone slab in the center of the dais.

"Yeah." He swallowed. "What's going on?"

Before the weasel could answer, Rath noticed the robed figure of the wildcat, Chopufi, striding toward them, balanced lightly at the edge of the pool. "Vik'hrr Chivkis! Come, let me tell you of Rikchiv."

Rath padded beside the Fritterik leader. "I have heard that you fought well against Srechrrl."

Before Rath could ask how Chopufi knew this, the cat's face contorted. "I sorry, but you are shripchiv, and will have to stay with us for longer if wish to have your own Rikchiv. But, you are a brave warrior, and so I will let you see for yourself."

Something inside the ferret swelled with pride, but it was nearly blotted out by a sudden sense of… something. He couldn't decide on what it was; it fluttered and glimmered inside, elusive, like starlight on the surface of the pool. Alluring and impossible and exquisite. He shuddered. Wanted it. Needed it. Never wanted to leave.

As the vermin neared the slab, Rath noticed that several creatures were already gathered around it, one of which was another ferret. He had seen this one in battle; the Fritter had done an impressive job of driving back the invaders and Rath smiled. _Somebeast like me. Fates, finally._

Something about the other ferret struck Rath as a little odd. Despite the warrior's stance, the Fritter was fixated on the stars above, and his whole body seemed to shake and shudder with a sort of nervous energy.

Chopufi strode forward, and the other vermin fell into silence. "Rikchiv Katcher?" he growled, standing in front of the ferret, who smiled from ear to ear.

"Katcher Rikchiv atkatchka."

The warrior watched, hypnotized, as a tattered crimson cloth was laid over the slab, and the Fritter ferret stood in front of it. The cave ferret's eyes flittered toward the sky, and Rath was reminded vaguely of a bird.

_Wait._

The world dropped away. _no_

Starlight winked off the blade. Rath opened his mouth but snapped it shut, lest the darkness force itself down his throat and choke him.

Or perhaps it was the blood. The delicious scent was drowned out by shrieking, but that was to be expected.

The light inside intensified. What was once a wonder now was unbearable, searing, murderous pain, lancing through his organs like a, a _blade through an eye. Splitter-splat._ He attempted a giggle, but could only manage what sounded like a choked bleat.

Rath stood, stone-faced. The other ferret's pain rooted him to the spot, leaving him unable to even look away. When it was finally over, Chopufi approached, his robes stained red. The gladiator nearly saw right through the cat to where the pitiable, moaning Fritter was being borne away. His good eye flicked to the elder.

"…full Chivkis. And perhaps one day soon, you be mere Vik'hrr no more!" An innocent smile bared blood-flecked teeth.

Rath suddenly felt very cold.

--

The ferret found himself fleeing back through the tunnels, heart pounding against his chest as he ran. He wasn't sure why, but there was a dreadful feeling that peeled back his insides like a scab. How much time had passed? No matter, he had to tell the others. They needed to get out.

More importantly, _he_ needed to get out.

But it was so very _cold_. Like an icy blue blade that slashed him right to the bone. The warrior felt himself weaken, and he struggled to make it past a bend. Just as he neared the lake, he heard the sound of pawsteps behind him and felt his fur stand on end.

_Relax. It's just the elders returning. They need to sleep too._

But relaxation was the last thing on the ferret's mind, and he forced himself onward. The cold was almost an entity all of itself now. It grabbed Rath and squeezed the air out of him in one drawn out breath that curled and slithered up up toward the ceiling.

The ferret cursed the wildcat's drugs for making him so weak as the pawsteps increased in sound, thumping, thrumming, deafening.

"Vik'hrr!" The voice echoed off the walls. "You are most worthy. Will you not accept the sight?"

Rath chanced one glance over his shoulder. Although the voice was familiar, it was not Chopufi behind him, but a perversion of nature. Eyes of all shapes and sizes slithered and squirmed and swam in his fur like stars in the sky.

Snarling, Rath whirled around. "No!" He roared. "I won't let you hurt me, or anybeast. Do your worst, scum!"

The wildcat stopped. But he did not cower, or turn tail, or even wince.

He _smiled._

"Very well." The elder's voice had changed. It resembled a wet sack being dragged across gravel. The smile stayed on his face as the rest of him warped and shuddered, ever-growing, until the once-wildcat was now a bloated sack of eyes on eight blade-tipped legs.

Rath he stared at the beast across from him, and found that he had no fear.

The creature pounced just as the ferret rolled out of the way, landing nimbly on three paws. Sweeping, he cleaved clean through one of the bladed appendages, and reveled at the roar of pain.

And yet something wasn't right. Rath glanced down at his weapon and nearly dropped it with a howl. Black sludge had crawled over the blade and had already started engulfing his paw. _What—_

Rath tripped as icy claws clutched at his heart. Scrabbling for purchase, he started when he saw Keane. The wildcat stood by, a curious half-grin on his face as he watched the fight. The ferret lurched toward him. It _burned._ It burned so much. It was as if his bones were being eaten, dissolved, crushed.

"Hurts doesn't it?" Keane asked, lips parting in an oddly sardonic smirk.

The warrior stared back. "You're dead," he murmured, partially disappointed that was all he could think to tell him.

"I am." With the speed of an expert disarming stroke, the wildcat neatly tripped Rath, who fell heavily.

Fueled by panic, the ferret just managed to block a fatal blow from the creature's bladed leg. Straining, he pushed back against the monstrous appendage that hovered inches above his throat. "Keane!" He howled, voice cracked. "Do something!"

The fighter could only hear Keane's voice. "More than you ever did for me." He felt something tug his ears back and faltered for one moment, but it was one moment too much.

A fearful howl ripped from Rath's throat. His axe clattered against the stone, useless, and the blades feasted on his unprotected neck. They tore once, twice, thrice.

Through misting eyes, the ferret noticed that Chopufi was once again his normal self, chatting animatedly with the dead wildcat.

_A miserable life,_ Rath sobbed, a wretched gurgling sound. It hurt, oh fates, it _hurt_. _It's only fitting that I should suffer a miserable death._

--

"Rath!"

Rath's eye snapped open and he bristled, snarling. Venril, quite taken-aback, stepped back a few paces.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up!" There was a pause. "Okay, well I did, but… oh, you know what I mean." He wrung his paws as the ferret slowly pieced reality back together, staring at the river.

_Its only Venril. I fell asleep here after the ceremony. I'm not dead. Chopufi is not a monster. Keane..._

Rath wrinkled his snout and cupped his head in his paws. _I should have been there._ He bared his teeth at the image of that mouse. _I bet he wasn't even armed when you slaughtered him. The next time we fight, you will not escape your fate._

"Um… is now a bad time?" Venril took another tentative step back. "Because if it is, we can always train some other time."

Rath shook his head. "No." Shaking the memories of the nightmare away, he reached for his axe and rose to his footpaws. _Huh, A warrior falling prey to a dream? Pathetic. It was just that balm._

"We'll train," The ferret said with an expert twirl of the axe. "And if you don't learn how to defend yourself properly, you die."

Venril froze.

"That was a joke." The ferret's eyes lightened for just a moment, and he offered a rare grin. "Now, come on."


	41. Interlude: Of Fighters and Spies

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 41. Interlude: Of Fighters and Spies  
**_  
by Bell_

"What do you want me to do?" Bell spoke without color. If felt like all the emotion had been leeched out of her for that day -- arguing with Sailpaw, fleeing his death, fearing the drums and fighting the creatures that accompanied them, explaining to Giddy that his hero had died, trying to console the recruit while hiding her own grief. There was nothing left in her but fatigue, the vein completely tapped. She could hardly find the will to care that the bird had managed to swipe her dirk while she slept. Still, appearances must be kept up.

"I've a notion," Damask began, bright eyes catching her world-weary gaze, "that we'd best be served by teasing out his means and motives, first. Reconnaissance!"

_If he had paws,_ the dormouse realized, the faintest glimmer of humor shining through her darkness, _one claw'd be raised dramatically about now._ The bird had always been a bit amusing. Wasn't that the purpose of a minstrel? Entertainment.

"But that craven cur has routed me out," the bird continued with a quiet forcefulness that was refreshing, if unusual. "You'll need to take point on this, Bell. Yes. I think, if we can uncover his purpose -- his grand scheme -- we'll be better equipped to deal with him and his…minions."

"Sensible," the dormouse agreed, finally sitting up. Here was a task, something to occupy her mind instead of the continuous replay of Sailpaw's death. Everything she could have said and done differently. Her last words had been a threat… What had the squirrel said to her so often?

_I try no' t'fight with ye, Bell. Only a few beasties left oot here I count as friend an' I'll be a fox's uncle b'fore I die angry at ye. Heh! 'Sides, ye'd murder me in a fight, ye would._

Her throat tightened. What had happened to him anyway? If it was poison, as Damask said, it was some terrible thing she had never seen. If it was disease like she had smelled… Fates forbid it be something contagious.

_He was on me,_ the dormouse realized, eyes widening imperceptibly in the flickering torchlight. _His blood and spit._ When did he say he'd first started feeling ill? _That vermin! He said he was bitten by one of the cave vermin._ Was the gibbering beast going crazy even now, infecting more creatures with its putrid condition? Had one of the creatures managed to bite her in the battle after? She hadn't been paying attention to her physical wounds. What if–?!

"So you'll do it, then?" Damask's query broke into her increasingly worrisome thoughts. What was happening to her now? When had she become such an excitable beast? When had–

_Enough, Littlebrush!_ the dormouse chided silently. _Focus on Damask. Focus on his idea._ Yes. The robin and his plan. He wasn't asking anything extraordinary of her -- just to watch.

"Aye." Bell nodded. "I'll do whatever you want me to, Damask. We're comrades." They both started a bit at that statement.

_When did I…?_ When had she stopped thinking of Damask as just 'that funny robin' and 'the spy'?

_When he tried to protect you,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Freyr replied simply.

For all the good it did, for all the stupidity in the act itself, for all the misguided bravado, the robin had tried his best to save her from a beast who could surely have ripped him limb from limb. And not just any beast, one they both counted as comrade... more or less. To defend against ones enemies was common and expected. She had done it for Damask, and he for her. To defend against ones friends? That demanded a courage that Bell would not have credited the minstrel with until that moment.

"We're comrades, Damask." She affirmed with a nod, both for his sake, and her own. "If Venril's responsible for Sailpaw's… I'll kill him. Mark me: neither Hellgates nor high water will stop me."

~ = ~ = ~

And so Bell found herself the next morning leaning against as stalagmite in a cavern on the lowest level of the vermin city, watching Rath try to teach the 'devious' Venril how to fight. If he was faking his incompetence, he was doing a bloody fine job of it. Four times now, the dormouse had forced herself to remain silent when she saw the stoat's pitiful attacks parried or dodged completely. Rath was fast, yes, but he wasn't _that_ fast.

"Oh, for the love of the Long Patrol!" she finally chittered, unable to contain herself as sword clanged against axe once more. "Feint right and attack left, Venril. He's half blind! Take advantage of that, will you?"

Both combatants looked over at her, the ferret glaring, his beady eye a slit, the stoat captain panting, but seemingly relieved by the short respite.

"Comments from a beast who can't finish an honorable duel ain't welcome," Rath growled warningly.

"If you're going to train him to fight, you should instruct him in tactics, as well," Bell challenged. What was she doing? _Helping_ to train Venril was not part of the plan. Still, the warrior in her rebelled at the notion that some brute of a ferret could train a lithe fighter like the stoat properly. It would be like Sailpaw trying to teach _her_ about fighting with a dirk -- a complete waste of time. "What good is it to know your enemy's weaknesses if you don't exploit them?"

"A good fighter don't need to 'exploit', mouse."

"A good fighter takes any advantage given, vermin."

The dormouse suddenly found herself footclaw-to-footclaw with the ferret. Bell had her dirk drawn and teeth bared, and Rath had his axe gripped too tightly for the tilt of it to be casual.

"If I may interject." Venril coughed, but Bell paid him no mind, glare fixed on the brute above her, gauging the best first move. "Look here!" The stoat practically shouted into her ear. Bell blinked slowly to hide a wince and shifted her gaze to the smaller vermin.

"Er…" he began weakly. _Pathetic._ If this was the creature that had done Sailpaw in… No! She mustn't be deceived by appearances. He was physically incompetent, but frailty had a way of hiding other traits… like duplicity and guile. "Look, here, Leftenant Littlebrush. I appreciate the advice, but I did ask _Rath_ to train me. I should rather think you'd be better served assisting your own captain in training the other woodlanders than commenting on my lessons."

_That little…_ Bell felt her fur bristling. Such a nonchalant statement when he _knew_. "Captain Sailpaw is dead." She struck the pain from her voice and replaced it with anger.

"Oh." He had the gall to look embarrassed. Quite the little performer -- one to give Damask a run for his title. "Sorry."

The dormouse snorted, turned on her heel and stalked back to her stalagmite, sheathing her dirk in the process. That was how he was going to play it, then? Innocent?

_Tch! No vermin's _that_ innocent._


	42. Her Beauty In The Limelight

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 42. Her Beauty In The Limelight Overthrew You...  
**_  
by Eliza_

Dawn had broken, apparently.

Or rather, whatever played the role of dawn in this sun-forsaken pit. There could be no other concievable reason for the racket the savages were making. Eliza rolled over, trying shut out the chattering din.

Somebeast at the mouth of her cave gave a shrill whistle, shattering any possibility of Eliza getting back to sleep. Shoving the bedding material aside, the pine marten elected to give them a piece of her groggy mind. She staggered irritably out of the cave, and glared about for the phantom whistler.

A motley collection of ferals stared back at her, their squinty little eyes radiating curiousity. Eliza huffed at them, and the watchers retreated to a safe distance. They had probably heard about her soup-throwing prowess.

"Good morning, miss!" said the cheery voice of One-eye, from behind her. "I trust thee slept well?"

"Yes," she said, with what little false conviction she could muster.

The hedgehog smiled kindly. "Good! Perhaps thee would enjoy some breakfast?"

Eliza couldn't help the strained expression which came to her face as she envisioned leftover hantz and brkich, served cold.

One-eye chuckled. "I have noticed that thee seem to be rather uncomfortable with the ways of the Fritterik."

_Well, give the bumpkin a prize._

"Yes," she said again. _If, by "the ways of the Fritterik," you actually mean "the utterly repellant nature of every single aspect of these beastly little creatures."_

The spikedog nodded, smiling in a way that Eliza wasn't at all sure she liked. "Thee are not alone in thy sentiments, miss. The Fritterik way of life is not one that suits everybeast. Thee will be glad to hear that Yirika Chivis has ordered a contingent to begin clearing away the rubble, so that all of thee might return to the Oasis. They shall commence digging today."

Eliza's heart leapt.

"However," One-eye cautioned, the words carefully rolling from his lips, "there are a great many rocks to be moved. I would estimate that it will take seven sunrises." The hog paused a moment before adding, "by thy measurement of time."

The weight of the hedgehog's words hit Eliza like a cudgel. She leaned heavily against the wall, feeling faint. _Seven days of jabbering and gibbering and inedible food..._

Oblivious to her distress, the old hog continued droning. "In the meantime, we shall do all in our power to make thy stay a comfortable one. If thee find thyself in any need, please don't hesitate to ask."

"I don't suppose you've got a decent dressmaker, a warm bed, and a bath hidden somewhere in these tunnels?" she asked sarcastically.

One-eye laughed. "I'm afraid I cannot provide thee with a tailor, or any bed beyond the sort which thee have already used." The hog stroked his chin thoughtfully. "A bath, though, I can provide. There is a grotto down one of the side tunnels which is fairly secluded. Thee could bathe there without risk of being seen. I will ask one of the Fritterik lead you to the place."

She'd settle for it. Eliza couldn't remember the last time she'd properly washed up, and the last several days had left her feeling like a mobile rubbish heap.

One-Eye hailed a passing female weasel, and chattered away a series of instructions in the primal tongue. The weasel nodded eagerly.

Passing Eliza a lit torch, the hedgehog smiled. "Biskiskis will take thee to the place. I hope thee will find it suitable."

Eliza rather doubted that, but thanked him anyway and followed after the weasel, who was already skittering off towards the nearest tunnel.

After venturing down several side passages, the guide eventually brought Eliza to a cavern. The smooth floor sloped downwards on all sides, forming the shallow banks of a large shimmering pool. The flickering torchlight reflected off of the water, casting bright interweaving ripples of light all about the curved walls.

As the pine marten appraised the glassy surface, two things occurred to her: firstly, that hantz had to come from somewhere, and, secondly, the specimen she'd encountered yesterday had possessed a rather disquieting assortment of needly teeth.

"Er... hantz?" she asked, pointing at the pool. Eliza had no desire to be nibbled on.

The weasel shook its head like an idiot. "Ihn hantz. Iv chipik."

Eliza stared dubiously into the inky depths. She hadn't the faintest idea what a chipik was, and wasn't entirely sure that she wished to chance meeting one.

"What is a chipik?" the pine marten attempted. This brought about a look of befuddlement, so she asked again, loudly and _slowly._ More befuddlement.

Eliza tried to recall the way she'd heard questions asked before, at the feast. "Er... im... chipik?"

Coherence dawned on the weasel. It scrambled down to the pool's edge, and pointed to the water. "Chipik," it said, simply. Then it splashed a paw into the water. "Chipik."

_Right. So, 'chipik' just means 'water.' I think._ Eliza picked her way down to join the feral, careful not to slip. She dipped a paw into the pool, and was pleasantly surprised at the moderate temperature. She'd been expecting something absolutely frigid.

"Thank you," she said, exaggeratedly nodding her approval to the weasel. "Now, shoo, please."

The feral stared at her in puzzlement. "Shoo?" it parroted.

"Shoo," Eliza repeated, trying to wave the savage away. She was hardly going to disrobe in front of this common wretch. "Shoo! Begone. _Go._"

"Go?"

"Go away! Get out of here!" the pine marten snapped, stabbing a claw at the exit. The feral's mental gears ground together briefly, then it caught the hint and toddled away. Eliza watched it go, frowning. _What a frustratingly stupid beast._

Eliza scanned the shadows, eyes hunting for any sign of life. Nothing moved, except for the occasional drip of water.

_Good,_ she thought, shrugging out of her dress sleeves. _No sense giving the savages an eyeful._ The fabric clung to Eliza's fur via a thin sheen of sweat, much to her disgust. She peeled the garment off, shivering slightly in the cavern air. Whichever seamstress had invented the slip had definitely not done so for warmth.

She took a deep breath, and stepped into the water. The coolness galvanized her, sending a tingle through her paws. Ripples spread out across the surface of the pool as Eliza descended further, easing herself into the shallows. The water lapped at the trailing edge of her slip.

_Seven days..._ The number hung ominously over the pine marten's head as she began to scrub. _Seven days in this hellish labyrinth of predatory shadows._

Eliza splashed a few pawfuls of water onto her face. It trickled down through her fur in grey rivulets, leaching away the filth.

The ferals were going to dig them out, and then the corsairs would probably try to chain her back up. She would have to figure out some way of circumventing that, and quickly. _Perhaps Captain Venril can make himself useful..._

Then there was the robin. His curious serenade had slipped her mind until now, the matter having been buried under the avalanche of unfortunate events she'd been experiencing lately. The bird's display of unsolicited flattery was, on one paw, charming. Hearing her praises sung had sparked a tiny flame of hope in her, that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't _entirely_hideous.

On the other, however, there had been something... amiss... in the robin's eyes. Something she couldn't quite articulate, but it made her flesh _crawl_. Whatever the bird's deal was, she wanted no part of it.

Eliza ran a claw through her stringy fur, grimacing as some of it came away in her paw. Days of unwashed wretchedness had given the dirt enough time to establish a firm stronghold; without soap, she wasn't going to be able to accomplish much. _Perhaps a good soak might help..._

The pine marten waded deeper, sinking into the water until it reached her neck. She gasped, trembling slightly. It felt a good deal colder than it had earlier.

Eliza pushed off the bottom, floating for awhile on her back. Numbness began to spread through the pine marten's body, the cool water absorbing every ache. She watched the dancing patterns on the roof as she drifted, marvelling at their silent beauty. The refractions merged, wavered, and rippled all across the craggy dome, producing an elegant masterpiece of dance which no mortal choreographer could ever aspire to replicate.

There was a _splunk_ing sound. Eliza snapped upright, glaring about for any potential voyeurs. The pine marten's eyes darted about the cavern. She couldn't see anybeast, only the crackling torch. The light was burning faithfully, just beside the rock on which she'd laid her dress...

...Which was no longer there.

_No. No, no, no no._ The syllable looped over and over again in Eliza's head, accelerating to a fever pitch with every repetition. Her only tangible reminder of home had been snatched away, leaving her exposed and helpless in the water. Somebeast had stolen it! _No,_ she realized. _Not just any _beast._ Some pestilent, demented fool... A fool like..._

"Revel!"

Eliza screamed again, white-hot with fury. _"Revel!"_


	43. Murder, He Dooked

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 43. Murder, He Dooked.  
**_  
by Venril_

Venril stretched his arms, almost sighing in relief. Rath had been resistant at first o the idea of helping the stoat learn how to fight, but once he had gotten used to the idea had thrown himself into it with surprising vigor. It was just one training session,and Venril had a lot of work to do, but he felt a little better knowing he had a professional like Rath to learn from. Even with Bellona's unwelcome interference, the training session had been exhausting, but in a good way. In fact, the stoat reflected, this was probably the first time anyone had taken an interest in him. Well, except Baron Proklyan. And that had extended only to teaching him to be a clerk, not to keep him on as a clerk rather than turning him into a hordebeast.

_And speaking of hordebeasts…uh oh._ Venril felt an ominous feeling come over him as he saw Verand leaning casually against a wall in front of him. The ferret smirked as he saw the stoat, and Venril felt a little flutter of fear in his stomach. The ferret strolled over casually.

"Hello, 'Captain.' I'm here to have a little talk with you about the pecking order around here…" The ferret's paw snaked out and clamped onto Venril's arm, which had started to move towards his waist.

"Now, now, let's not do anything stupid, Venril. If I wanted to kill you I could have done it many times already. But I don't. You know why Captain Matukhana hasn't killed you already, Venril? It's because you're so weak he can't take you seriously as a threat."

Venril opened his mouth but before he could speak Verand backpawed him savagely across the face, splitting his lip open. "I'm not finished speaking, Venril! Now, as I was saying, Matukhana lets you live because you're not worth killing. And that's why I've let you live, because I don't feel like getting into a spat with Matukhana. So you're going to stay a 'Captain' for now, but from now on it's going to be me calling the shots. My word is the order of the day, not yours. There's no horde here, Venril, no Baron Proklyan to go around putting little runts like you in charge of beasts like me. The first time you even annoy me, I'll kill you and just deal with Matukhana later."

Venril snarled. "Hey, wait a second, Verand, has it ever—GAACK!" Venril gasped and choked as Verand slammed his fist into Venril's side just under the ribs, and then sent a left hook crashing across his face. Grabbing the stoat's shoulder, Verand slammed him hard into a wall, and then brought his knee up hard into the stoat's back before throwing him to the floor and raining several more kicks on him. As the stoat lay on the floor of the cave, gasping in pain, Verand spoke again.

"There. You just used up all the patience I have. Think about what I said. You may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I'm going to trust that you can learn a lesson when it's clear enough. Just remember, Venril, I am in charge now. Do you understand?"

"Y..yes."

"Yes what?" Verand knelt down and grabbed Venril's face. "Yes, sir, Captain Verand. I want to here you say it. Say it!"

"Y-yes, sir, C-c-c-aptain…Verand."

Verand dropped Venril and stood up. "There. Glad to see we know where we stand. I'll see you later, Venril." The ferret ambled off completely casually.

Meanwhile, Venril tried to sit up, only to feel a wave of nausea overcome him, and suddenly his hantz was back in the cave it had come from. The stoats eyes teared up, and he had to struggle not to cry. He had never been this humiliated and miserable in his life. Verand hadn't just said that he was a failure as a captain, he had proven it beyond any doubt. A real captain didn't let his hordebeasts walk all over him, and certainly didn't get pounded to a pulp and told he wasn't really in charge any more. After a few minutes, the stoat was able to sit up and lean against the wall.

As he sat there longer and longer, thinking about what Verand had done to him, Venril felt a new emotion washing over him, and he looked at where Verand had gone, feeling an intense wave of almost overpowering hatred. Verand had made him miserable since day one. _ That's the last time Verand…the last time!_ Venril didn't know how much time passed, but when he stood up he was animated by a new sense of purpose. He was going to kill Verand. He didn't know how, but he was, and before he died Verand was going to know that he had abused the wrong stoat. Venril decided to try to go try and get some sleep and think up a way to kill the ferret in the morning, but as he was walking back, clutching his aching side and bloodied muzzle, he suddenly heard the sound of a familiar voice yelling in the darkness.

"Revel! Revel?!? REVEL!"

Liza…Verand had taken an interest in Liza…in fact, it was that interest that had partially prompted the current outburst. His battered muzzle screamed in protest, but Venril couldn't help but smile. An idea was forming in his head. He would go see what ailed Liza, and maybe if he could fix it she would agree to his idea. The stoat, still clutching his abdomen, hurried in the direction of Liza's shouts, which continued every so often.

Venril ducked into the passage from which the shouts had emanated. Liza was in the water, mostly submerged, with only her head and neck above the surface. The marteness gasped as he came in and lowered herself further into the water "Don't look at me!"

Venril sat down on a rock, wiping away a trail of blood from his face. "What happened, Liza? Do you need help with something?"

Liza's frown deepened. "Yes! That wicked toad Revel stole my dress! I left it on the rock when I went to bathe, and she took it!" The marten's tone softened. "Please, Venril, could you get it back for me?"

Venril couldn't help but feel that this was a slightly less serious problem than his own, which tended to involve beasts (or birds) who wanted to kill him. However, he needed Liza's help, so he put on the most sympathetic-yet-chivalrous expression he could muster after being punched in the face and shoved into a rock wall.

"Alright. I think I know where she might have gone." The stoat started walking off to find Revel.

It didn't take long to find the small cave chamber where the cavebeasts had originally put Revel…and him! It turned his stomach to even think about what must have prompted the cavebeasts to put them together. _Even I am not NEARLY that desperate._ Upon reaching the entrance Venril stopped to listen, and was surprised to here the sound of…crying? Venril walked into the room and was surprised to see Revel curled up in a ball, Liza's extremely ill-fitting dress hardly covering her at all, despite several tears in the fabric.

Forcing his paws to stop clutching his aching sides and stomach, Venril tried to put on his most authoritative expression, no small task since his face was still bruised and bloody. "Now, see here, Revel. Give me back Liza's dress right now, or I'll…be very angry about it. I might even yell."

Revel didn't seem to be paying attention to him. Instead, she sniffled a few more times, clutching her stomach. Venril decided to try again.

"Revel, give me back Liza's—"

"Fine! You can 'ave Pine's stupid dress! It doesn't fit! I don't want it!" Revel, with not a thought to her modesty, grabbed the dress, pulled it off and flung it at Venril. "Stupid Pine and 'er stupid dress! Jus' take it an' go away, bloodychops! Prissy-face! I never want t'see you again, stickstoat!"

Venril grabbed the dress and made a very hasty exit, not wanting to spend any more time in the presence of the increasingly bizarre female any longer than he had to. His side muscles screamed in protest at his speed, but he didn't care. For the briefest moment, he thought he heard Revel whisper after him "Wait...come back..." but all that made him do was hurry even more.

Heading back down to the rock pool, he decided to try to get a little cleaned up before going back to talk to Liza. Looking at his reflection in the pool, he frowned. His face was bruised and cut up in several places, with plenty of crusted blood in his fur. Still, this wasn't the first time Venril had been on the wrong end of a larger mustelid's fists, and some of the other times had been worse. Venril cupped his paws and splashed some water up on his face a few times, trying to clean off the blood. Finally deciding he looked presentable enough to perform a dress delivery, he picked the garment back up and walked back to where Liza was.

"I got the dress."

"Thank you." The marteness started to move towards the shore, but paused. "Well?"

"Well what?"

Liza rolled her eyes. "Put the dress on the ground and then go somewhere else."

"Oh." Venril put the dress on the ground and then walked a short ways over and sat down behind a rocky outcropping.

"Alright, I'm coming out of the water now. Don't look."

"I won't."

"I mean it, don't lo—"

"I heard you the first time!" Venril snapped back."

_ What's she so worried about?_ Venril thought to himself.

_Right. Like you aren't even a LITTLE tempted._ A little voice inside him whispered sarcastically.

_I'm not!_ Venril thought back.

_Oh? Is that why you're edging closer to the side of the outcropping?_

_Well, okay, maybe a LITTLE tempted. But she's a marten and I'm a stoat!_ It didn't sound convincing even to Venril, let alone to the little voice.

_Close enough._

Venril slid his face slightly around the side of the outcropping. _Just one quick look…what harm can it do? _[/i]

A few moments later, Liza called for Venril to come back, and he did. The dress had been somewhat mangled by Revel, but it was still wearable. Liza finally seemed to notice that he was injured. "What happened to you?"

"Verand happened."

Liza looked vaguely disgusted, and Venril bristled. "Hey! He's been a hordebeast his whole life! I was a clerk until about two weeks before we met."

"You mean before Verand abducted me."

Venril nodded. "About that…I've been thinking. I've had just about enough of that ferret, and I'll bet you have too."

"I had had about enough of him the moment I saw him. But what are you going to do about that? Make him tire himself out beating you up until he has no energy left to bother me?"

Venril ignored the insult, and leaned in close. "How would you like to be rid of him for good?"

Liza looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Umm, Venril, I appreciate the effort, but I don't think you can beat him in a fight."

Venril smirked. "Who said anything about a fight? We know Verand's sweet for you, right?"

Liza shuddered. "Unfortunately. Why? What are you thinking?"

Venril told her his plan. It wasn't the bravest of plans, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It took some persuading, but when she finally agreed, Venril had to smile.


	44. School of Rock

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 44. School of Rock  
**_  
by Deadtail_

"Quiet!"

The word flew through the cave, colliding with distant stones and crashing to the floor with a _thud_. The Fritterik chattered onward, uncaring.

It would be nice to get them to practice under those circumstances, Deadtail supposed. When the Srechrrl attacked again, they would bring their drums to confuse the Fritterik. But how to get them under control long enough to follow orders?

He pulled out his sword, waving it in front of them. "Shut yer traps."

"Trap?" echoed Zhipzi.

The weasel had shown no interest in learning how to defend her community, and Deadtail was hardly going to force her to do so. It was a pity how quickly things had changed; the Fritterik grottoes had seemed utopian only because their inhabitants were too dumb to fight back. But as long as there was nothing better to do, he might as well try to change that.

Still, while Zhipzi could barely heave a rock, she was his most useful ally. "Make them...not talk."

"Iyi! Fritterik!" she seemingly complied. "Chakan ihnih!"

"Chakan ihnih!" The message was repeated, rippling from the back of the small gathering to the front.

"Thanks," he muttered, then walked to the front of the group. Waving them on with one paw, he walked across to the place where the rocks they had just thrown had landed. It was too short a trip.

Deadtail walked to the very last rock; he thought it had been thrown by another rat, but it was hard to tell. Picking it up, he held it high in the hope that the other Fritterik would wait for his instruction. That hope was dashed, as one keen weasel grabbed a rock and threw it in the opposite direction—where it hit an oncoming rat's footpaw.

"No!" Deadtail called, dropping his own rock. "Zhipzi, tell them to put the rocks down." He picked his up once more, only to exaggeratedly lower it again.

Whatever gibberish she spouted worked. Soon enough, the Fritterik were waiting for him once more.

He had never thought that he would be a teacher. The problem with most hordes he'd seen was not that the recruits knew too little, but rather that they believed too much. Their delusions, their dreams—those were what got them killed. He'd never stayed anywhere long enough to be surrounded by such _incompetence_.

No, not incompetence. Potential.

"Tell them to watch what I say, and listen, but don't do any of it yet."

Another short wave of chatter spread, but there was no way of telling whether the message had gotten across until he actually began to speak. "Now, when the Srechrrl come, you all need to...get together." He spread his paws wide, then drew them closer.

Zhipzi translated to no effect; they already stood as a unit.

"If you threw a rock very far, go in back. If you didn't, get in front."

As Zhipzi spoke, Deadtail walked from the back to the front of the group, miming powerful and weak throws respectively as he passed by. The lack of movement suggested that they weren't catching on, but maybe they'd wound up in reasonable places already.

He returned to the back. "Now, when I say go, everyone in the back will throw. And the rest of you will wait...wait until you see rocks in front of you. Then throw."

"Say just one thing," Zhipzi hissed, "it hard to talk."

"Sorry. Everyone, when you see rocks in front of you, throw."

He'd have to throw first. The good news for the Fritterik was that there were so few of them that nobody would be hit by his throw. It was also, of course, the bad news.

Nevertheless, he lobbed his rock over and then watched to see how dismally things went. A few in the front were hit, but by the time he saw them wince it was far too late to find out who'd thrown the responsible rocks and haul them to the front.

"Okay, everyone, go find _your_ rock. The one you threw." Practice enough times, and the best would wind up in the back in the long term. By the time everybeast had thrown, the Srechrrl would be that much closer to the weakest ranges.

Zhipzi's voice seemed different as she spoke; frustrated? Amused? Before Deadtail could talk to her, though, a young stoat had raced up to her and began muttering.

"All the rocks are rocks," Zhipzi translated. "What rock is his?"

"One of the ones in front, I think," Deadtail pointed. Somebeast so small couldn't throw very far. And if he happened to get hit, well, the Fritterik would be even worse off with him in the back and potentially hitting yet another beast.

The other Fritterik were similarly unsure where to go, but after volley after volley, most of them eventually realized that they were better off in back. The bigger ones outshoved the smaller, and some semblance of order was established.

Deadtail directed more than advised. Why hadn't he paid more attention to Rath in the caves below the waterfall? Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered—no matter how skillful he was, getting it through the Fritterik's skulls was something else again.

Once they seemed to lose focus, he decided that they were done for the day. "Come back tomorrow, we'll try some more."

They scattered, some proudly bearing their rocks with them as they departed. Zhipzi, however, remained behind—and so did her husband, Vakka-shin. "I want," he said, pointing at Deadtail's sword.

"No. It's too slow. Rocks are faster."

Vakka-shin turned to Zhipzi, who spoke for him. "You say. I talk for you, you help Vakka-shin know..._swor'hrrd_."

Above ground, he would have laughed at her accent. There, however, the simplicity was almost endearing. "Yes, but I was lyin'."

"You stand."

"I need to go eat."

"You go eat, I don't talk for you next day."

It was absurd! How could he be at _her _whims? "Suit yerself."

He strode off towards the dining area. It was no responsibility of his what happened to the Fritterik, if they didn't want him around. No, he was content to wait...

Until the tunnel to the outside was complete. Until then, he was at the mercy of his hosts—hosts that might not approve of a pledgebreaker.

Cursing his luck, he turned back to the weasels. "Just a little bit."

Vakka-shin grinned broadly. "Thankyer."

Perhaps he could distract the cook with vocabulary? Taking his sword out and gripping it with one paw, Deadtail pointed to the scabbard. "Scabbard."

Vakka-shin had no interest in vocabulary. He reached for the sword as Deadtail snatched it away.

"This is mine," said Deadtail. "You'll do as I say."

"Give him," Zhipzi ordered.

"Not until I can trust him with it." Before he could think of any simpler way to phrase it, Zhipzi was rattling something off. It seemed to work; Vakka-shin stepped back and looked downward, meekly.

"Now give him."

Warily, Deadtail approached and placed the hilt within Vakka-shin's paw while not removing his own. "Try liftin' it up."

Vakka-shin jerked the sword upward; Deadtail gripped it even more tightly. "Good, like that. Now, if yer fightin' a Srechel—"

"Srechrrl," Zhipzi interrupted.

"Aye, one of them lot." The name hardly mattered; the fangs did. Striking for the neck, though effective, might not be the safest choice. "You go after the top of their chest." Deadtail tapped Vakka-shin's. "You put the sword, there."

He had not thought Vakka-shin's glee could grow any more, but when it did, he realized his mistake. "This is my sword, it stays with me. But if you see a spear lyin' around, you can pick it up. It works the same way."

"Spear?" asked Vakka-shin.

"Aye, it's one of them..." Deadtail raised both paws to gesture, ineffectually outlining its size. "Things the Skrechel, whatever, that they carry."

Zhipzi attempted to relay the information to Vakka-shin, but he was not paying attention. With the weapon in his paws at last, he lunged in every direction, stabbing imaginary Srechrrl. There, dead ahead of him! And another to the left! And another, just behind Deadtail! The rat winced, staggering backward as the sword sliced through his stomach.

"Why, you—" he rasped. "What'd you do that for?"

"Sorry!" Zhipzi squeaked. "You is guest, not Srechrrl. Vakka-shin no hurt."

A hundred oaths raced through Deadtail's mind. None of them seemed necessary. Woozily, he sat down.

"Fight Srechrrl like that, yes?" Vakka-shin demanded.

"Aye." Was the weasel still wearing that infernal grin? "Aye, like that..."

By then food would indeed have been nice, but it would have to wait a few moments. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him some good, he decided. Relax for a while, then go eat. So convinced was he of his own competence, proven time and time again, and Vakka-shin's ineptitude, that there was not even time in the end for panic to grip his face before beating out one final retreat.

end of week three.


	45. Interlude: Sagaru

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* * *

start of week four.

**Chapter 45. Interlude: Sagaru  
**_  
by Deadtail_

"But I wanna go _home_!" whined the little volemaid.

"And where is your home?" Sagaru asked.

The vole did not sense the frustration in the mouse's tired voice. "Up inna north," she responded earnestly.

Yet another child too young to really understand. "We can't go up north right now. We don't have any boats. But maybe someday, we will. Here, have some more fish."

"It tastes yucky," protested the vole, but ate anyway.

All of the slaves that had been rescued from the ditch had devoured whatever was placed in front of them. The ones that had not made it out of the ditch seemed even frailer. Resting, eating, and building up their strength had sufficed for a while, but Sagaru knew they were getting impatient.

It wasn't as if the Heirs had been inactive ever since the battles at the Oasis. They'd needed to lie low themselves for a few days, and it was just her luck that _those_ would be the days of some slave insurrection. By the time she had found the woodlanders abandoned in the ditch, half of their peers were gone, and with them the vermin.

_"Into the caves?" she repeated, unbelieving. "How did they get in?"_

"They'm must've cleared away ee rock poil, boi 'okey," Root answered.

"But..." She tried to remember the glimpses of the cave she'd seen. Where was Jurin when she needed him? He remembered all the old stories. "They're still in there, then?"

"I've been keepin' watch." Palmud, a squirrel, stepped forward. His scars were ugly but skin-deep; he had survived the worst of the battles."Haven't seen 'em."

"So they are _still there." Sagaru turned from the waterfall to the young slaves drinking greedily from a cactus. Then she remembered Jurin again. "Root, Palmud, whoever else is well enough. Could the vermin see you if you took the high path above the waterfall?"_

Palmud paused for a moment, remembering the route. "I don't think so."

"Whoi do ee ask?"

Sagaru sighed. "If you could rig the rocks, trap all those vermin in the cave?"

"Ee vermin, ay. But they'm slaves in ee caves too, miz."

"I know. And you don't have to." Why had they made her _the leader? She was an Heir, of course—but that was just the inheritor of a past legacy. It was no use for their present dilemma. "I only thought, with most of the vermin gone, we'd have a clearer shot at getting the oasis back."_

Root glanced at Palmud. "If you'm do say so, Oi'll haul any rock from 'ere to ee gurt frozen north."

She had sworn that it would be worth it, sworn she would protect the other slaves. She had not counted on there being a reason that those particular slaves were the ones left behind, nor had she counted on the temptation to use the slaves to swell the ranks.

_"What else are we goin' to do with them all?" said Palmud. "We can't send 'em back alone, so we might as well have them help us out."_

"They'm just little'uns, an' half-starved from walkin' through ee desert. It bee'm our job to make sure they'm all safe, not ee other way around, hurr."

"It'd only be till we get the Oasis back."

It was then that Sagaru had interrupted. "Stop squabbling. I know you're frustrated cooped up here, but that doesn't mean you have to behave like Dibbuns."

They sheepishly halted, respect for her silencing them without freezing their tempers. But how to take advantage of it? How to separate them? "Palmud, you can go find the ones old enough to fight and arm them. And Root...the others all look parched. Do you want to help them get drinks?"

They had needed more help than Root could give them—the little vole had poked herself on a cactus, and that was why Sagaru was playing nursemaid. "Would you like some vegetables?"

_"We'm foine roight here," Root steadfastly maintained. "We'm got lots o' ee fishers."_

"Look at the slaves!" Palmud responded. "They need more than fish. It's not just about us."

"Aye, but they'm baint in no state for it. It'll just have to be the two of us that go."

"I'm not scared. Are you?"

The longer they waited to take back their home, the longer she had to put up with their whining. It was an ulterior motive to strike quickly if there ever was one, but they needed to pick their battles carefully. "He's right, Root. You don't have to go if you don't want to, I should be able to."

But whatever she thought of the matter, Root refused to let the Heirs' leader dirty her paws in the patches. "Yore place is here, miz. Oi'll get ee veggies."

The vole didn't know of the risks that Root and Palmud had run in obtaining the fresh food. "I don't want vegetables. I want mama's bread."

_Maybe she_ does _have a mother up north_, Sagaru told herself. _There's no reason she'd have to be in the caves._ "They're good for you. Here, come with me and we'll go get some."

She waited patiently for the volemaid's stubby paws to catch up with her. Sagaru matched the slow pace her young companion set, but knew all the while that their mundane exile could not go on much longer.


	46. Interlude: Nivard

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 46. Interlude: Nivard  
**_  
by Revel and Eliza_

Kirby grimaced and sighted down the end of his knife. Just beneath the hovering needlepoint tip, a fly sat on the lip of the porridge pot, wringing its forelegs together.

He was nervous. This was not just any fly. No, this was a villainous winged demon in insect form. It would continually stamp its grody little feet all over the soup spoons, whizz about in front of his face, and buzz incessantly in his ears whilst he was napping. Kirby had put up with these shenanigans for long enough. The fly had to die.

The ferret cook raised the blade ever so gradually, lulling his nemesis into a false sense of security. Yes, ever so slightly, he would raise it to a throwing position. Then, when the tiny insect's brain would least suspect it... _Sklick!_ His whiskers twitched with anticipation; his paw perfectly still.

"Hellgates!" roared a voice from outside the hut. The fly buzzed off, just half a second before the knife flew.

Kirby nearly gulped back his tongue as former First Mate Nivard staggered in. The stoat didn't even notice the knife sticking out of the wall just inches from his ear.

"Thrice-blasted... worm-ridden... Hope yer 'appy! Ye coward! All warm an' snug wid yer treasure keepin' ye fed! Rah, 'm not yer lickspittle, Matty! Ye can't tell me wot ter do no more!"

Nivard stumbled further into the warm shade of the kitchen hut, a clay flask clutched in his paws. His course veered and twisted as his footpaws fought to keep him balanced, until at last he fell against a barrel of water, tipping it over on himself and turning the dirt floor to mud.

"Feh," he growled, laying in the sodden grime, empty eyes drilling a hole through the smokey ceiling.

Kirby trudged around the fireplace in the middle of the hut and offered Nivard the end of a ladle.

"C'mon, Cap'n... Up y'get, now."

Nivard shook himself loose from the ferret and leaned against the wall. Leaning around to peer out the doorway, he stared at the remainder of the crew splashing about in the shallows of the oasis pool.

"Lookit 'em, Kirb. Lookit 'em all... plottin'! Schemin'! 'Let's go an' save Matty', d'you hear 'em? 'Ol' Matty wos th'Cap'n fer us, aye.' Cowards! Sneakin' around my back, comin' in my hut at night an'..." The stoat swallowed, shivering. "Cowards..."

Kirby noted the pervasive scent of alcohol on Nivard's breath. "Speakin' o' huts, Cap'n, ye need yer rest... I've made ye some coconut soup an' some nice buns - no weevils, even!"

"No - no weevils?" Nivard said, turning around and gaping. "But - but wots th'point, then? Can't 'ave a bun without weevils... can't 'ave 'em!

"Well, alright..." Kirby scratched his head. He wasn't accustomed to this sort of conversation. "Th'buns have got weevils in, then?"

"Good! It's my ship, Kirby - my ship! I tell you wot gets done, y'hear me? No one else! Don't listen to 'em! I'm th'Cap'n now. It's my ship. My ship..."

There wasn't a ship anymore, not really. Kirby decided not to mention that. "Come on now, then, Cap'n..."

The stoat's face was flushed, his eyes reddened around the edges. Kirby had heard tale of what the sands could do to you if you stared at them long enough, but he'd never really _believed_ them... Well, not until now, anyway.

With his unkempt wet fur, his whiskers still half-missing, and the fresh scars still lining his chest, Nivard cut a fearsome sight. The effect was somewhat ruined by his whimpering and clinging to the fat ferret, causing Kirby's pegleg to sink deep into the sand with each step.

"Y'won't turn coward on me, wouldjer, Kirby?"

"No, Cap'n, never. On me oath as cook!"

"Not like that snivelin' lizard... settin' all 'em slaves free."

"Aye, not like him."

"Or that wretch of a bosun, Flitgut! Hah... hah. I flit 'is guts good, didn't I?"

Kirby winced at the memory. "Aye, Cap'n. Not like Flitgut. I'm loyal to ye!"

"Tried ter stab me in th'back... an' missed! Butterpaws."

The ferret snorted back a sigh. "Flitgut weren't good for nothin', everybeast knew it."

And the two other corsairs Nivard routed out and slew as well? Of course they were good for nothing. Except watching the slaves. But what was the point of watching the slaves? They never went anywhere. Until suddenly they did.

Kirby gently kicked open the Captain's door and helped Nivard to the cot in the corner. The stoat drew up the sheets to his chin - even though it was midday - and stared at the wall.

Nivard was right to worry, Kirby reflected, as he went back to his kitchen to fetch a bowl. The corsairs were getting tired of the ghosts in the desert stealing things in the night. And they were tired of the nights being so cold, and the days so hot. They wanted their ship back - some had set about deconstructing the huts for firewood.

But it wasn't the corsairs Nivard had to worry about. They were mateys, they knew how to work together. It was that blasted Venril's lot that was trouble, refusing to take orders without their Captain about to give them. Lounging in the shade all day, playing in the water. Kirby had been ordered not to feed them. Secretly, of course, he rationed out some supplies to keep them sedated, but Nivard had it firmly in his head they were just waiting for their best chance at his neck. He was probably right.

Kirby set the bowl on the low table beside the cot, and helped Nivard to sit up.

"Can I get ye anything else, Cap'n?"

Nivard, shivering madly under his sheets, turned his face towards Kirby.

"Aye... find Matty. I don't wanna be Cap'n no more."

"Alright..." That was impossible, and Kirby knew it. Matukhana was dead, crushed to bits by the rocks. Ruddy shame, that. He hadn't been a half bad captain.

"An' find..."

"Aye?"

But the stoat was now occupied with spooning scoop after shaky scoop into his maw.

Kirby grimaced. It actually pained him a bit to see Nivard like this. The stoat wasn't a bad sort, really, not like some of the other Captains he'd cooked mess for. Just... off. Aye, that was it. Off. Couldn't handle the, whatchacall, stress, of his new position.

"Well, Cap'n, I got ter go an' feed the rest of the lads. You just get yerself some rest, aye?"

Nivard nodded miserably. "Aye."


	47. Interlude: Medjool

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* * *

**Chapter 47. Interlude: Medjool  
**_  
by Bellona_

His tongue flicked out. _Idiots._ They all tasted like idiots.

Medjool's tongue teased at the warm air, watching the vermin muck about in the Oasis pool. The lizard lounged languidly in the shade of a coconut palm, considering his next move. He'd brought the vermin to the Oasis and all he'd received in return was a bit of sickly hedgehog that one could hardly classify as a snack. The spines had been an interesting treat, granted. Almost like the needles on a cactus, but less plentiful and harsh on the mouth. Yes…a bit more meat wouldn't go amiss just now. In fact, that rat was straying off by himself in a manner that simply demanded he be taught a lesson -- a _final_ lesson.

On the verge of slinking from his comfortable repose, the lizard managed to resist. He'd seen the paranoia in the new captain's eyes. The mad stoat would notice if one of his creatures went missing.

His tongue flicked out. _Dust. The faintest hints of water and sweat._ Furred creatures were truly disgusting things.

Not that the lizard disliked them. They were useful, sometimes friendly, and enjoyable things. They certainly made good meals, whether on the plate or preparing it, if Sagaru and her companions were anything to go by. Medjool felt the corner of his lips twitch downward of their own accord.

There it was again, that little, burrowing beetle of doubt -- of remorse -- for betraying the fuzzy creatures who had shown him kindness in the desert. They deserved it, though! He'd made one mistake, one tiny mistake, and they'd called him a thief and a threat and thrown him out. Ungrateful worms! He'd done his fair share of work. More than his fair share, so he had deserved more than his fair share of food.

Well, it didn't matter now, because now he was barely getting any food besides what he could scrounge from the vermin. He'd toyed with the notion of dragging a few off in the night to consume, but there again, the wild, searching eyes of the stoat and his fat cook cast a pall over that plan.

_Hnh! Woodlanderz iz better for me,_ he reflected, eyes wandering to the cliffs where he had spied two dark shapes moving along the tops some days ago, before the earthshake that had most certainly killed the creatures in the caves. As annoying as the woodlanders might be -- refusing him his fill -- they had given him more than the vermin. That was especially true now that the other slaves from the ditch had been liberated. Granted, not much meat on that lot, but at least there had been _some_thing he might have eaten.

Hold a moment! That was it! If he could help the woodlanders to reclaim the Oasis, then things might go back to the way they were. No. Better than they were! He would be a hero in their stupid little eyes.

_Medjool!_ he could hear them chanting and allowed his maw to split into a toothy grin. The little female mouse would offer him the bodies of the vermin to eat. _Medjool! Our savior!_

"Yezzz," the lizard hissed, stretching luxuriously.

"Oi!" The word carried over to Medjool and he glanced over to the pool to see a rat baring his sorry-excuse-for-fangs at a weasel. "Ye blaggard! Gimme back m'blade or I'll 'ave ye, I will!"

"Hah! Jist try'n make me!" the weasel taunted, waving about a rusty sword. The rat lunged and in that moment, the weasel's mocking smile became a feral snarl. With a cry, the rat pulled back, clutching at the place where his ear used to be. "It's me own blade now, cully! Shove off or I'll even out th'weight on yer fat 'ead!"

The rat backpedaled and turned to flee, whimpering like a hatchling in search of his first meal. The weasel sneered in his direction and bent down to rinse his weapon in the pool. Medjool's scaly brow furrowed as he tasted the air once more. Pain and fear were unmistakable. Perhaps a bit of caution was in order, just in case the woodlanders failed to oust the vermin.

~ = ~ = ~

"I come in peaze." Medjool held up his claws and smiled, though this hardly seemed to reassure the squirrel and mouse who had their pitiful weapons leveled at him. "Pleaze," he continued, stepping forward just for the satisfaction of watching them step back accordingly. "I need talk to you leader. Iz about vermin."

"What about them, Medjool?" the mouse, Sagaru, appeared and approached. She tasted of fire, smoke, and fish. Oh, lovely fish. He had to swallow to keep from drooling.

"First maybe I zit and eat?" he suggested, pointing toward the wreck of the pirate's ship. "Iz long walk from Oaziz."

"You'll speak your piece here, lizard." The one-eyed woodlander crossed her arms defiantly. "I don't have time to play at hospitality with traitors."

"Traitor?" Medjool injected as much hurt into his voice as he could muster. "I not traitor. I iz zpy on vermin for you. Want Oaziz back for woodlanderz."

Sagaru's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And why would you want that after you sold us out to those vermin? Oh, and the slaves we freed told us what you did," she added, fur bristling and hostility beginning to emanate from every pore. "You stood by as an innocent hedgehog was murdered and then you _ate_ her. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand, you traitorous _cannibal_." She drew her sword for emphasis and the other woodland guards resumed their fighting stances.

"Hnh! I not want fight." Medjool resisted the urge to step back. "Iz not wanting for that now." He thanked the stars these furred creatures had such a poor sense of smell or they'd have jumped him for the fear rolling off of him in waves. He gulped, but covered by sneering and clacking his claws together ominously. The woodlanders looked a bit less certain of themselves, even Sagaru.

"I lead vermin to Oaziz becauze they zay they need water," Medjool invented quickly. "I think: Who doez Medjool know who help creaturez in trouble in dezert? Iz Zagaru and all her woodlander friendz. I point out guardz to vermin zo they talk to them, but then vermin trick I and kill woodlanderz." He threw in a sniffle for good measure. "I iz much zad, but cannot let vermin zee or they kill I, too. Then, I get idea! I act az zpy and when I get good chanze, I come find woodlanderz and tell them all about vermin camp. I have to do zome terrible thingz to make zure vermin fear I and think I one of them. But now I here to help plan to get Oaziz back! Iz good idea, yez? I iz only think of my friendz who give me food and zelter and I want to help them, yez."

"You've really been spying for us?" Sagaru raised an eyebrow, but her posture was no longer so tense. She _wanted_ to believe.

"Yez!" Medjool nodded vigorously. How easily these fuzzy creatures were manipulated. "I zpy good. Let I come eat and I tell Zagaru all about camp. We bring down verminz together, yez?"

"Perhaps," the mouse replied dubiously, signaling him to follow her to the campfire. All according to his plan.


	48. Like Dating a Cheesburger

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 48. Like Dating a Cheeseburger.  
**_  
by Venril_

Venril's chest was aflutter and his heart was pounding. He was going to do it. He was finally going to show that brute Verand what came of trying to push around a captain of Baron Proklyan's horde. Of course, he couldn't just tell everyone after he killed Verand, given the ferret's popularity with the horde, but before he died Verand was going to know exactly who killed him. _And Liza will too…she doesn't take me seriously now, but she'll see…_

The marteness in question suddenly reached out and tapped his shoulder.  
"Venril? Are you sure you really want to do this?"

"What? Uh, yes, of course I want to kill Verand! Go get Verand. I'll be right up here." Venril was currently crouching on a high ledge, just out of site. Around him, he had a stone spear from the Srechrrl attack and several large, heavy rocks. From his ledge, Venril had a perfect view of the flat area where Liza would stand with Verand, close to the edge of a sharp dropoff.

Eliza sighed. "Venril. If this doesn't work…" She tried to hide it, but Venril could sense the the fear in her eyes and her voice.

_Thanks for the vote of confidence, Liza._ "Just go get Verand! Everything is under control." Venril said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. It was a pretty well conceived plan, but he couldn't help but feel nervous. Verand was neither a fool nor a weakling, and there was little room for error or bad luck. _Especially with Liza watching._

Liza began to walk back towards the main Fritterik settlement. The site they had chosen for the ambush was in a side tunnel far away from the rest of the settlement. Once she was out of sight, Venril sat back on his haunches, awaiting her return. It took much longer than Venril had expected, and he was beginning to wonder if something was wrong when he heard pawsteps coming in his direction.

"Knew you'd see the error of your ways eventually." Venril's fist tightened as Verand's voice became audible.

"What can I say, Verand?" Liza's voice was a purr unlike anything Venril had heard from her before. "Surely you must know that a lady can only be coy for so long, before she must yield to the advances of a worthy male."

"I'm not sure we really need to go any farther than this, Liza."

"What's the matter, Verand, afraid of the dark? I should think a rugged male like you would exult in the thrill of the chase. "

Earlier, Venril and Liza had set up two sticks to mark the target zone where Verand was supposed to be. Venril watched Liza walk past the sticks, and then saw Verand move into the target zone. Venril rose up and lifted the heavy rock over his head. Verand paused in place, and started to turn in his direction, but was unable to react before a large, sharp rock plummeted down from a height equivalent to two Venrils and a Bellona standing on top of one another and struck him in the head.

There was a small spray of blood and the ferret went down like a sack of bricks.  
Venril was just about to congratulate himself when Verand, to his astonishment, began to rise up. The rock had stunned Verand and bloodied him up, but hadn't killed him. Venril picked up another large rock and threw it at the still-rising ferret.

The rock struck Verand in the back, knocking him back down. Verand shoved the  
rock off himself and struggled to rise again. This time, Venril threw the spear, which struck the ferret dead in the back. Verand gave a terrible yell of pain. Venril began to climb down the ledge. However, Verand began to recover faster than Venril had expected, and was starting to try to struggle up again. Liza was much closer to the ferret than he was, but instead of moving to attack the ferret, who was still on his paws and knees, she just stood there in shock, spots of Verand's blood splattered on her fur.

"Hey, Liza! Don't just stand there, help me!"

Verand looked up at Liza, his eyes wide, and tried to reach out to grab her. Liza responded with a kick to the face.

"Grrk—Liza! What are you—" The ferret's words were drowned out as she kicked him again, and then again.

"That's for shoving your ugly face in mine every change you get!" Kick. "That's for kidnapping me out of the tavern and making me a slave!" Kick "And that's for making me have to spend all this time in this stupid cavern with Revel and the hedgehog and all the others!" Kick.

Verand suddenly managed to grab her footpaw and yank it to the side, catching her off balance and causing her to stagger to the side attempting to keep her footing. The ferret struggled to his feet and began to try to retreat back to the Fritterik settlement. Suddenly, Venril, who had managed to climb down while Liza was kicking Verand, slammed into him, knife in paw, and plunged the blade into Verand's chest once, then twice. The ferret's eyes widened.

"Venril?"

"That's Captain Venril, you mutinous prat!" Venril spat out before grabbing another rock off the cave floor and hitting Verand in the face with it.  
It took a few hits before Verand stopped moving.

"So. That's the end of that." Liza was the first one to speak. The marteness looked shaken, her face ashen. She looked like she might even feel a little sick.

"Yes. No more Verand."

"Well, thank you for helping me with that problem, Venril. What do we do now?"

"I'll drop him down that shaft."

"Good...I..I think I need to get some air." Liza walked rather shakily back towards the cave, wiping the blood spots off her fur with a small piece of fabric.

Venril began dragging the still ferret over to the tunnel. He dumped Verand down the tunnel shaft. As the ferret vanished into the darkness, Venril began to chuckle, and then to laugh aloud. He had done it! No more Verand! This wasn't some halfwit woodlander who had gotten unlucky. This was a dangerous, athletic, experienced hordebeast who he had duped and ambushed.

The stoat felt a sort of euphoria come over him. A part of him wondered whether he was laughing loudly enough for Liza to hear him, but he pushed the thoughts away. Several minutes later he still couldn't stop laughing. Even when a noise that sounded almost like a groan of pain emanated from the tunnel he had dumped Verand down, he didn't care. Venril took out a rag and cleaned up some of the blood, then dumped that down where he had dumped Verand. Another little sigh or breeze emanated up, but Venril still didn't care. He was still struggling not to laugh as he walked back up the tunnel—

And saw Liza with Damask, leaning forward and listening intently as the robin rattled off some sonnet he had composed. Venril couldn't make out the words, but he didn't care to, anyway. All he noticed was the fact that Liza was interested, engaged even, paying rapt attention to Damask's prattling. And when he was finished, she clapped in delight.

When Damask had come to Venril in the night to threaten him and lay claim to Liza's affections, Venril had dismissed it as a delusion or a joke. Yet now… as absurd as it sounded, it seemed almost as though Damask might not have been completely delusional. Liza clearly was receptive to the poetry. In fact, she was showing much more interest in Damask than she ever had in Venril. Even after  
Venril had carried out his promise to get rid of Verand, her gratitude had been limited to a smile, nothing like the applause and thanks she was now lavishing on Damask.

Venril's jaw tightened. _A BIRD?!? She's less interested in me than she is in a bird?_ Venril could have accepted it if Liza had chosen another mustelid over him. It would not have been the first time. However, being turned down in favor of a feathery little lunatic like Damask? What could she possibly see in him? _It's like courting a pasty! I'm second place to a snack!"_

Venril stalked off without even approaching the pair. _I get her dress back, I stick my neck out to try to get Verand to leave her alone, when that doesn't work I help her kill Verand and get rid of him permanently. And after all that, she prefers the affections of A BIRD who hasn't done anything but make up some ridiculous poetry? What the 'Gates do jills actually want?"_

The only thing Venril could think of that would make him feel better was if Rath was available for another training session. Maybe the ferret knew how to shoot birds out of the air with a bow.


	49. And We Smiled, Our Faces Like a Mirror

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 49. And We Smiled, Our Faces Like a Mirror  
**_  
by Damask_

"Stop, bird." The voice, more than the command made Damask freeze in place. Giving a small sigh, he turned, his eyes resting on the fox captain. The beast took another step forward, angling himself in front of the entrance to main cavern. "Did you think I'd forgotten?"

Damask couldn't help a wry grin and replied with a light tone, "Well, to be honest--"

Matukhana's footpaw jabbed out once, connecting with the bird's stomach. Inky blackness began to devour his vision as the bird doubled over. Pain lanced through through his gut and he laid on the floor, beak opening and closing as he ineffectually gasped for air.

"Listen well," the fox's tone was genteel as he spoke, leaning down and dusting orange down from the tip of his boot, "I don't trifle with the little details, bird. And you are a little detail."

He gave the bird a nudge. "So, as soon as we get out of here, I'll personally tear off the tips of your wings and crush your throat."

"Wait..."

The fox's tone was still jocular as he leaned back against the wall, a grin on his muzzle. "I don't think you understand me, Damask. Perhaps, I should be clearer."

The boot came down on the tips of one wing. Damask found his voice at last.

He screamed as he felt the bones of his wing tip give way under the blow. His stomach forgotten, the bird clutched the wing to his chest, whimpering at the burning that was working its way up his wing with the slightest ruffle of each feather.

"I have no interest in anything you have to say." The fox spun on his heel and began to leave.

"There are two groups of beasts."

The fox stopped and turned. His jaw was set as he replied, "You just don't understand..."

The bird continued, hopping forward, "Two groups of beasts who are fighting constantly. In a set of caves. Think about it."

The fox paused and regarded the bird with slitted eyes. He nodded.

"What else would they be fighting over? The choicest patch of moss? That cave full of delectable mushrooms a few leagues yonder? Think, fox."

Matukhana gave a snort, his voice mocking, "Still just words, eh, bird?"

The fox turned and left. Damask relaxed, sinking to his haunches as he began to gingerly preen the crushed feathers of his wing. He tensed as a voice cut through the cave, surrounding him with echoes, "You still ought to watch your back when we get out of here."

And so our clever, brave, intrepid bird  
Did fool Matukhana with his guile  
And with his wits he twisted ev'ry word  
And so disarmed him with naught but a smile.

The bird finished rearranging his plumage and shook himself, leaving the side-passage. On his way out, he passed by a squirrel who gave his wing a critical look before commenting, "I'm thinking we should just stick to the main chamber from now on."

He gave a snort as a reply and made his way over to a low table, settling himself down and spreading the wing out to further inspect his plumage. _Not too bad... I could still fly if we were outside. In here, however..._

_But you are stuck here... in this forsaken hole,_ Softleaves whispered, tickling his tympani.

Damask took a few deep breaths, testing his bruised abdomen. No stabbing pain, just a low throb from the blow. "True. But at least she's in it."

_You mean the marteness?_

"Yes."

_The one leading Venril's second-in-command into a side-tunnel in a decidedly maiden-like manner?_

Damask had largely ignored the movement in the room while he examined himself, but at the subconscious mention of Eliza, his eyes shot up. He was just quick enough to see his maiden grinning back over her shoulder as she--

_Yes, Damask, she was sashaying._

The bird hopped up, holding his wing tight against his body as he paced on top of the table. Should he follow? But what could he say? "I'll stay," Damask said aloud, looking about the empty chamber. "I'll stay until she comes out. Then we'll talk. Just... I'm sure it can't be what I think it is."

And so, the minutes passed, but only just. The bird hopped from table to floor and began to pace in an erratic hopskip, glancing every few seconds at the empty entrance.

"She couldn't..."

A gasp interrupted the latest batch of muttering and Damask's turned to see her--

And framéd was the maid by squalid cave  
It made her radiance grow ever bright.  
"Oh maiden fair, why do you look surprised?  
And turn your face and hide now from my sight?"

"Err, Damask, right?" Damask felt a surge of pride that she remembered his name -- a lady with as many suitors as she! The marten's voice was soft as she sat on a nearby bench. She looked up at him with gently tilted eyebrows, which created a small wrinkle on her forehead. While her expression was concerned, the bird could almost detect the slightest smirk beneath. _She must like the attention!_

"Mi'lady, I just-- I was wondering..." The bird's eyes flitted back and forth to the entrance.

At first the jill looked confused, but then comprehension and horror flitted across her features, "You mean... that brute and I? Heavens no!" She placed the back of a paw against her brow, looking affronted at the very idea. It seemed odd – not the reaction he had come to expect from Eliza, but it fit; that was certainly a damsel-like pose.

"Well, that's a relief," the bird replied, his mood beginning to lighten already. "I was worried about what he might try with a fair maiden like yourself about. I imagine he doesn't see too many."

She rewarded that remark with a smirk. "Indeed, not."

Success again! She seemed more receptive than last time. A lack of fleeing helped, for sure. Though she still seemed troubled and not at all talkative. Try a simple compliment, perhaps. "You look beautiful, madame."

Elzia gave a ladylike snort of derision, plucking at the hem of her gown, "Ah, yes. I do pull off tattered and mud-speckled, don't I?"

"Well, miss Eliza, if I may," the bird began, as he hopped to the tabletop next to her. "it is not the dress that wears you..."

A small chuckle arose from her, "You never give up, do you?" She rose, looking down at the bird, "Everything has to be a compliment..."

"Well, you do deserve them."

"If you insist," the marten replied, batting her lashes once.

"If my lady wishes," Damask bowed low, speaking with as much confidence as he could muster, "I composed another sonnet for you. If I may?"

Eliza nodded once, and settled back into her seat. He gazed into her upturned face and gulped once, hard. Clearing his throat, he closed his eyes and began.

Eliza, how that name doth make me swoon!  
For when 'tis spoken from this lowly beak  
It makes my breath to catch, my pulse goes weak;  
Each moment 'part from you is like a wound.  
For like a tiny columbine in bloom,  
Forced to the shade. Yet it shall always seek  
The golden sun. Like it, I may seem meek,  
Yet for thee would I give my very plume!

Oh maiden fair, if I could give you wings,  
I'd show you all the wonders of the skies,  
But even then, I'd be the richest bird.  
For though those wonders still might make me sing  
'Tis nothing like the love that does arise  
At mention of your name, that blesséd word.

Damask opened them to a smiling marteness. As she gave him a small, but enthusiastic, round of applause, Damask felt the world grow unsteady.

It was as if her smile did shake his core  
He saw his love returnéd in this sight,  
And so he sat back with a dazéd look.  
The maiden fair did ask, "Are you all right?"

"Damask?" Eliza almost sounded... concerned.

He was beaming as he sat back up and explained, "It was simply, miss Eliza – well, your smile was dazzling is all."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, come on. My smile took your breath away?"

"Yes," he said.

She brought a paw to her cheeks, as if to hide a blush, "Thank you, Damask."

"Oh, miss Eliza, I would sing your praises for hours, but," the bird's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as he continued, "there are matters of some urgency I wish to speak about."

"What is it?"

"Well, it is about that Venril character. I fear for you when he is about." The bird looked up at one of the entrances. When his eyes came back to rest on Eliza, she had a paw over her muzzle, Damask reached out a wing to her. "I know, it's hard to believe, as I saw him speaking with you earlier."

Eliza gave a dainty cough, a smile playing across the edges of her lips, her voice tinkled like a bell as she stifled a giggle, "Oh Damask, do not fear for me; Venril is harmless." Her eyes leveled at his. "Besides, I have my gallant knight to protect me, yes?"

_Of course! Why, I would fight legions of suitors and rescue you from durance vile! I would find the rarest treasures! I would compose the most beauteous sonnets! I would live and die for only you!_ Between mind and beak a mistranslation occurred: "Err..."

"Damask." Her face suddenly became serious and she leaned in close, her dark eyes catching the torchlight.

"Yes?" His pulse took on a staccato beat in his head, almost drowning out her next words.

"Thank you for everything." She laid a small peck on the side of his beak.

Again, the world started to spin around Damask, and the bird sat back on his haunches. Eliza stood and gave him another smile, then turned and began to walk away. Damask hid his beak in the crook of his good wing, willing the blood to leave his cheeks. _She kissed me! She... she loves me!_

He, of course, missed the marten scrubbing her muzzle with the back of a paw as she moved away.


	50. Melodies of Life, Love's Lost Refrain

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 50. Melodies of Life, Love's Lost Refrain  
**_  
by Revel_

It had been very sad, Deadtail's demise. Or it would have been, if Revel had cared for the rat. She hadn't.

They'd left his body in the twisting passageways where the Srechrrl came from. There had been some dissent - nobeast liked the idea of feeding one of their own, dead or not, to the monsters in the dark. But the Fritterik had insisted, and in a way, it was logical. They could have sent him down the river, or buried him in the mushroom cellars, where the soil was soft and could use the nutrients. Delaying the next attack by providing their enemies with a sacrificial offering was seen to be the better choice.

Hardly an hour after the unceremonious dumping of his corpse, Revel was clapping her paws in glee. Somebeast had the presence of mind to rid Deadtail of his clothing, and Zhipzi had acquired them and brought them to Revel's chamber. The stoat had holed herself up, refusing to come out until she had a dress or was at the very least decent in some manner, and her tunic was nearly in ribbons.

Zhipzi was proving herself to be a weasel of many talents; under her tiny paws, Revel's old tunic had become a skirt, and Deadtail's was being transformed into a simple sleeveless top. The fabric was drab and of a loathsome colour, but Revel had to admit it was better than nothing at all. If it came to it, she could wear her headscarf around her neck for more eye-catching effect.

"I could do it," Revel said, trying to grab the rusted needle from the weasel. Zhipzi hissed and gave Revel a bop on the head. The stoat sat back and sulked.

"Zhipzi gonna do good," the weasel affirmed. "Vivkvi Rivvil make string!"

Zhipzi babbled on as they worked. Revel offered interjections here or there, but soon fell into the habit of ignoring her every time the words "pritter" or "pratcha" came up. She had made it clear that Zhipzi's brood were not allowed anywhere near her, so the weasel had settled for telling stories about them: like the time Zizzip had tried to eat a rock, or the time Michi had eaten a worm. As if the tales of offspring weren't bad enough, the only other element in them had to do with eating.

When enough cloth had been pulled apart for string, Revel got up and paced the short hallway between chamber and ledge, impatient and unclothed.

Though she had attended breakfast - warily, after last night's pains - she had missed mid-afternoon tea, and those addled-minded corsairs had not thought to bring her anything back. Nor had any of the strange cave beasts. Even Rath seemed to have forgotten her. He had probably never liked her in the first place, she decided. None of them wanted anything to do with her.

Which was fine. She didn't need them anyhow. Deadtail's death had proved the futility of forming lasting bonds; she had liked the rat from their brief meeting. He had seemed astute. And now he was dead. She was better off keeping to herself, as always. Flitting from group to group as she saw fit, as was necessary to survive from day to day.

She really didn't need anyone.

Except... well... a nice handsome hob would be nice.

"Is done!" Zhipzi declared. Revel turned away from the entrance and nearly tore the fabric in two again just snatching it from Zhipzi's grasp.

"'ow do I put it on?" There were straps and dangly parts. Revel couldn't tell which side was up.

Zhipzi patiently took it back and held the bottom open for Revel to poke her head through. Tugging it down and smoothing it into place was, without a doubt, the highlight of Revel's week. Five different strips of left-over cloth hung down all around the hem.

Zhipzi then held up the skirt fore her to step into. They managed to hitch it a quarter way up Revel's stomach, whereupon Zhipzi instructed Revel to hold it there while she pulled the top's straps through slits cut into the waistline of the skirt.

The finished product fit wonderfully. Revel wagged her hips side-to-side, shuddering with delight at the unfamiliar feel of the skirt rustling against her legs and tail. Zhipzi gave a squeak as she was suddenly embraced; the weasel's eyes bulged as her lungs collapsed.

"See Nivard now?" Zhipzi wheezed, as Revel whirled about the fire in the middle of the room, dancing to unheard music.

"Who?" the stoat asked, giving a curtsy to the wall. "Oh! Nivard..." Revel stuck her tongue out and nodded decisively. "I'm sure 'e'll love it! I'm goin' to go show Rath an' Venril an' Keane!"

Halfway back to the main hall, the stoat's pace slowed as she remembered. He'd died. Right...

"Revel?"

"Keane!" she cried, delighted for once that her memory's tricks were simply such. She twirled for him, holding up the hem of her skirt so as not to get it dusty.

"Um, no," he said, stepping into the light of a nearby torch. "Rath. Sorry."

Revel stopped dead. She frowned at the ferret in the wildcat's coat.

"Oh." She nodded at the stone platter in his paws. "What's that?"

He held it up to the light. "I didn't see you come down to eat. I thought I'd bring you up something. It's mostly fish - er, hantz. Again."

"You... were thinkin' of me?"

"Well, yes... We have to look out for each-other down here. You're one of us." _Us_, Revel vaguely recalled, was Eliza, Rath, Keane, and herself; everybeast who had been shanghaied aboard Matukhana's ship from that tavern. "I'm not going to let anything happen to Eliza or you."

"I wonder," Revel said suddenly, "if there's such a thing as brkich grog!"

Rath grinned. "Maybe. Here, take this from me, would you?"

Revel spun around again and fluttered her eyelids in what she considered to be a coy manner. "First tell me my new dress is beautiful!"

"It's beautiful," Rath sighed, squinting at it. "Now do you want this hantz or not?"

Revel snatched the platter, nearly dropping it in the process. It was heavier than the ferret made it look. Her whiskers lifted happily, then slowly drooped as a familiar clinking noise grew louder.

"Ah, Rath, there you are!"

And there was Venril! Revel tried to wiggle at him, but it was difficult with the platter in her arms. The male stoat's eyes paused on her, then quickly shifted to Rath.

"Are we up for another session yet?"

Rath heaved a sigh. "I suppose."

"Who died?" Revel asked, sniffing curiously.

Venril jerked a few inches behind Rath. "What?"

"His name was Deadtail," Rath said.

"Right," Venril said. "Deadtail died. A shame."

"You smell like blood," Revel said, her nose pointing accusingly at Venril. Venril's armour polish had worn off somewhat, and no longer invaded the spot between her eyes with its stabbing scent. And in its place, there was something strong and musky, mixed in with traces of blood, sweat and dust.

"You do," Rath said, sniffing. The ferret looked down at the runty stoat in surprise. "Not still your own?"

Blushing furiously so that his russet cheekfur turned maroon, Venril stammered something unintelligible.

Revel's smiled. "I like it."

_Both_ males turned and stared at her.

"Is my dress pretty?" she asked, doing her best to flick her tail playfully towards Venril in lieu of being able to twirl properly. She held back a wince as bruised bones twitched.

"Excuse us for a moment," Venril replied blandly, gesturing for Rath to follow him away.

Revel waited a moment, but instead of pausing out of ear-shot, they kept going until they turned a corner and were out of sight. She stuck her tongue out after them and flounced further down the tunnel.

She made it down to the main floor without dropping the platter, and headed directly for the long trestle tables. As usual, there were dozens of Fritterik gathered about picking at whatever had been left over from the last meal. Revel shoved aside an over-eager young rat who had taken it into his head that she was delivering more food for them, and sat down quickly to dig in herself.

Queasiness steadied paw and jaw; the jigs and twirls she had flaunted so readily had taken a toll on her in the form of a wicked ache deep in her stomach. Revel forced herself to think of off-kilter brkich and stale hantz - but still the mental imagery of tiny, pink, grubby stoats sitting inside her abdomen gnawing at her organs prevailed.

She pushed the platter away. A few seconds later, she drew it back, too hungry to let such horrors win. The hantz was cold, but delicious and greasy as ever.

Her ears pricked; two tables away, a cluster of young Fritterik had gathered around the robin that Matukhana had found. Revel divided her attention between picking away the bones of her meal and listening. At first she thought there to be an older beast present in the circle, but spying none, she came to realize it was the robin itself supplying them with the lilting music.

The words were hard to make out, but the melody was clear. Every so often they would be punctuated by flits and slices of whistling; these echoed immediately by some of the more crafty of the audience in their own chirping tongue.

Strange as it was to see a bird underground, Revel found his music to be stranger. This was not the babbling she knew in the woods. This was structured, complex, and above all...

Beautiful.

She moved her food a table closer, eying the young Fritterik warily. If one so much as dared come near her, she'd punt it across the cave, she swore to herself. And yet it was hard to stay angry at them with the robin's sweet trilling echoing throughout the cavern.

Revel finished her food and turned to rest her back against the edge of the table, stretching her legs out in front of her. She could only just see her footpaws bobbing along.

"Oh maiden so voluptuous, did thou," the bird said, flapping his wing into the crowd to clear a path between he and Revel, "begin to gently hum, this moment now? Perhaps if you could share a song so well, you would allow this bird to rest a spell."

It turned slightly and threw a wink to the crowd as they applauded his rhyme.

Revel stared. Clear as daylight, she understood it's - his? - words. A bird of song, a _bird_! When had she last tasted bird? Those pitiful meals on the ship. Before that, the egg fallen during the storm. Her hunger had been waylaid by the hantz just now, but the craving for a juicy gobful of proper meat caused her to lick her lips clean of drool.

There was no point in talking to woodlanders. They didn't listen, they didn't have anything important to say back. Replying to a bird was the very notion of insanity. She might as well talk to her own stomach!

After a few seconds' thought, Revel shook her head.

"Surely you know a tune to entertain these restless creatures for a spell? The one-eyed hog knew it also. A lullaby, was it not?"

They were staring at her now, all their beady black little eyes. Revel threw a piece of fishbone at one particularly goobly-mouthed ferret.

"You sing," she said. "I don't know 'ow."

"A lullabye it is," Damask sighed. "Hopefully to put these cretins to sleep."

And as the robin began, Revel's jaw fell slack. She could not believe it - within seconds, the roiling within her had calmed! Sitting perfectly still, the stoat slid her paws between the gaps in her garb and rubbed at her soft tummy fluff.

_Never you fear, my dear little ones,  
Mother is here now beside you  
Come keep you close, ever so warm,  
Never let dark nightfall fright' you._

She was transported back to the forest, back to the oak before the storm. She'd been running from somebeast, she no longer knew whom, but she remembered how sick she had felt then. She had wondered if the vole had been a bad idea. Rubbing and talking to herself had cured it then, and now...

_For I shall not leave, long as you live,  
I'll not let fears overtake you.  
No I'll keep you close, close to my heart  
So feel as my love warms you through._

It was listening. _They_ were listening. An icy dread gripped her, though its claws were softened by the magic of the moment. It _was_ warm; how did the bird's voice do that to her?

_Your father's been gone, for twentylong nights  
I know that you're pining for his voice.  
He'd banish these fears, and laugh 'way your tears,  
Together we'd revel in his joys._

Revel opened her mouth - not to sing, but to correct his pronunciation - then snapped it shut again. She supposed pronunciation didn't matter if he couldn't even make contextually proper use of her name. "We'd"? That didn't make even a lick of sense. Stupid birds.

_But he's not come back, nor banished the night  
It's hollow here without his laughter.  
But I'll hold you close and never let go.  
When you wake, we'll still be together._

Revel stared blankly at the table-top.

"Keep singin'," she whispered to the bird, and he paused a moment to heed her. "Don't stop singin'... please. Do another one!"

"One more," Damask said, clacking his beak in annoyance. "Then I really must break for food."

She closed her eyes then, and let the melody flood her like water, filling her ears like the oasis pool had. The world grew distant and weary, the noise blurred and dimmed, but the melody still trickled through, driven on by the drum beats -

One heart. Clear as an autumn sky, each delicate thump keeping time to the poetry.

Two hearts, throwing the beat off.

Three hearts. An intermittent thrum.

Four hearts. A constant hum in her blood.

And then just one heart. She was sure of it. Night terrors and superstitious weasels be fletched!

Revel opened her eyes, took the stone platter in front of her, and threw it at the crowd of young Fritterik, sending them scattering. The stoat's smile was full of fangs as she strutted off, flicking her skirt side to side with her paws.

"Everybeast is a critic," Damask sighed, and pecked at a stray chunk of hantz.

* * * * * *

Revel allowed herself to calm down before going off in search of more beasts to impress with her new clothes. It took some time. Her paws were soaked, but she'd kept her skirts dry, and now her cheeks were extra spiky from their salted shower. Her hiccups had ceased.

She found Matukhana conversing with one of his crewbeasts, and danced around them.

"What do you think? Is it pretty?" she asked. "Is it pretty?"

"Pretty _stupid_," the searat guffawed. "Pretty _fat_!" His Captain cuffed him around the ear. "Owww..."

"Leave us be," Matuhkana growled. "Don't you have a stew pot to attend to?"

"I'm not 'ungry right now," Revel replied. She sauntered away blindly, her nose stuck up in the air and arms folded.

Something squeaked as she bumped into it.

"You!"

"Me?"

Bringing her nose down to see who it was, Revel spotted the dark shape of a squirrel limping away.

"Wait! Tell me my dress is pretty!"

"Don't eat meee!" Birch wailed, darting into a tunnel.

"Who's eatin' who?" Greenfang the weasel pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against. "Wot was that about?"

"Greenfang!" Revel spun again, undoing her headscarf to whirl it above her head like a dancer's streamer. "Look, isn't it beautiful? It's got a skirt _an'_ a top! Different colors!"

The only reply was the old weasel's snerking as he shuffled off towards the warmth of the cooking huts.

"Fine!" Revel screamed, stomping her footpaws so hard that they went temporarily numb. "_Fine_! You're all so _stupid!_ I'll show my dress t'somebeast who _appreciates_ beauty!"


	51. Tremble and Fret Upon the Stage

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 51. Tremble and Fret Upon the Stage  
**_  
by Eliza_

_There is grunting, sounds of a scuffle. Somebeast screams._

Eliza's claws snatch at her assailant, snagging on silk. The other beast thrashes, scratching at her, trying to escape.

Paws scrabble in the grass and rocks, as both combatants struggle for breath.

Teeth sink into her paw and Eliza shrieks. Blindly, she drives her paw into her opponent's stomach and shoves.

There is a horrible, lingering scream, which seems to go on for hours. It is the pleading wail of an abandoned kit, alone in the night; it is the primal snarl of a nemesis in total defeat. It is agony and rage, loneliness and despair, the tragedy and euphoria of an entire lifespan expressed in one final, wordless crescendo.

Eliza hears the dirge for days, its dying echoes haunting the periphery of every other sound. Eliza might never stop hearing it.

Verand had screamed exactly like that...

"Liza!" called out Venril's reedy voice.

The absence of her name's primary syllable would normally have been cause for a pointed linguistic tutorial, but not today. Not right now.

"What do you want?" Eliza demanded. She wasn't in the mood to talk to him. Not after what they had just done; not after she had heard his horrible, vicious laugh echoing up from the tunnels. Not until she had time to wipe Verand's blood from her face.

"I saw you talking to Damask just now," the stoat stated.

Eliza sniffed. "So what if I was? Don't tell me you're jealous."

Venril's mouth mumbled a protest, but the vulnerable brown eyes said, _"Big time."_

"I was talking to him, Venril. _Talking_."

"...And clapping," the Captain added, resentfully.

"Come _off_ it, Venril!" Eliza shot back. "He sang me a song."

Venril frowned. "I just think you should be careful of him, that's all."

_Advice in cautious companionship from a fellow who cackled like a madbeast after crushing his rival's skull. How dreadfully ironic._ "You want me to be careful of _Damask?_ Please, Venril, he's harmless."

"Harmless?" the stoat snorted. "That feathered lunatic tried to kill me last night."

"What?" Eliza asked incredulously.

Venril's eyes smouldered. "He snuck into my sleeping chamber and threatened me with a knife, because I had the gall to speak to his 'maiden.'"

Well, that was a surprising development. "I... I'm sorry. I had no idea..."

The stoat glared downwards, unwilling to make eye contact.

"Venril, look at me," Eliza said, draping a conciliatory paw on the Captain's shoulder. "I'm definitely _not_ his maiden, okay?"

"Okay?" she repeated, softly.

"Okay," Venril nodded.

"Okay."

_From valiant would-be saviour to whining barnacle in the bat of a wayward eyelash. Fates, but males are pathetic._

With a pseudo-sympathetic pat, Eliza slipped away, leaving the pitiful Captain to his ruminations. She wandered about a bit, trying in vain to locate the grotto she'd bathed in earlier. These stupid tunnels all looked the same. Some of the ferals jabbered at her as she passed. Eliza ignored them.

Eventually, she stumbled upon a cavern which contained a small pool. The pine marten splashed a few pawfuls onto her face, scrubbing the scarlet flecks away. Once she thought she'd gotten rid of it, she chanced a look at her reflection.

Eliza stared morosely down at the undulating image. She hadn't taken a proper look at herself, not since the collapse. Scars traced hideous swathes across her face, their spidery baldness furrowing her dark fur. There were lines across her muzzle, her cheeks, her forehead, even a long slash beside her right eye. Unable to look anymore, Eliza dashed the grotesque image away with her paw. The mutilated face dissolved into ripples.

Seeing the broken ferret screaming in fear and agony had been... horrible. Eliza had loathed him, hated him, wanted to see him brought low for daring to haunt her the way that he had. But she hadn't wanted to be there, watching, getting his blood on her face.

Evil for evil, blow for blow. Repay the malevolent brute for what he had done to her. Let the punishment to fit the crime. That was all. It was supposed to be over, once he was dead. No more leering. No more veiled threats or propositions. No problems.

But it wasn't over. The stupid ferret was still there, screaming inside of her mind, accusing her.

"'Ello! 'Ellloooo! Eliiiiiiiza!"

The last beast on earth Eliza felt like talking to waddled into the cave.

Eliza cradled her head in her paws. "Go away, Revel." _I'm not in the mood to hear about your latest demented escapade._

"No, no! Look!" Revel tottered over, her girth shrouded in some hideous crime against needlework. "See! I got dress like yours!" the stoat said, with an ungainly half-twirl. Her skirt flapped limply. "Look, isn't it pretty?"

"It's beautiful," Eliza lied. _Exquisite, really. Now get it out of my face._

The stoat's eyes shone in the torchlight. "You think so?"

"Yes. Whoever you stole it from must be _very_ upset."

"I didn't steal it," Revel said in a hurt tone. "Zhipzi made it for me."

"Really." Eliza appraised the haphazard stitching. _Zippy must be one of the blind ones._

Revel nodded. "Really! Zhipzi said takin' things from others is bad 'cos it gets you kicked, unless they're dead. 'Course, Venril is too sissy-skirt to kick me."

"Oh, really? Did he kick you for stealing _my_ dress, then?"

"Nope. He didn't," the stoat beamed.

"Revel, why did you steal it, anyway? How in the world could you believe it would even fit you?"

"I know..." Revel said, staring at the dirt. She put her paw down and began to twist the dust into pictures. "I just... I just want t'be pretty like you."

Eliza stared.

"Pretty?" _You? Don't make me laugh._

"Aye. You're nice an' thin, an' your tail is so fluffy an' clean. I seen th'way Verand's been lookin' at you. You've even got that bird droolin'! You're every male's fantasy!" The stoat tugged at her new skirt. "Nobeast likes me. 'm fat an' dumpy an' dirty. But I'd lose both my ears, aye, an' my eyes too – I'd get more scars'n you an' Rath together, an' break my tail in a score more places, if it meant I could just be as pretty as you."

Revel cast her tear-stained eyes up at Eliza.

"I wish I could be a pine marten. I wish I was you!"

Eliza had nothing to say.

Of _course_ Revel should be jealous of her. Everybeast should! That was the whole bloody point of being rich, wasn't it? The whole point of being the prettiest at the ball, of sweeping down the central staircase on the arm of the unattainably handsome beau, of being better than everyone else at everything... The point of all of that was to make every other beast wish that they could be you.

But, what did Eliza have, really? She had no real wealth of her own, only the handouts that Daddy gave her to scab over his guilt; all of those who might once have been called friends had abandoned her when it really mattered, left her to die on Lehman's dance floor. Her life held nothing but the fleeting ghosts of spent money and ersatz friendship, rapidly fading from party to party.

Being "every male's fantasy" wasn't nearly all it was made out to be, either. The dashing Captain was a cruel, vindictive murderer, the gallant knight possessive and unhinged.

Revel, on the other paw, had... naivety. She had some kind of stupid, simplistic approach to life that allowed her to think things like that a dress could solve everything. Eliza had a wardrobe lined with dresses at home, and she had never once felt a fraction of Revel's excitement over any of them, any more than a fisherman would be over a new fish-hook.

"...No, Revel," she said finally. "You don't want to be me."

"I do too," Revel pouted, noisily wiping her snout.

_I don't even want to be me, really... No! Stop it!_ she snapped to herself, quashing the stupid feelings. _I love my life! It makes me happy, it satisfies every want I could possibly have! Revel is stupid, and her dress is hideous! Nothing has changed! I'm just feeling soppy... because of Verand._

_Yes,_ she told herself. _That's all it is. I'll find my way back home, and then everything will return to normal, despite the stupid scars. And if their prissy standards and judgemental hierarchies no longer fit me, I'll force my way in anyway, and bend them until they do._

_But,_ reality interjected, _getting there would require a ship, and building and crewing a ship would require slaves. A _lot_ of slaves._

Eliza glanced over at a pair of chittering Fritterik, dragging a net of hantz fish behind them.

_Hmm._

As a dark mental flower began to bloom, it occurred to Eliza that she had never been formally introduced to Captain Matukhana. An unfortunate oversight, and one that she _really_ ought to correct...


	52. Heaven or Hell? Let's Rock!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 52. Heaven or Hell? Let's Rock  
**_  
by Rath_

"So… bested by a bird?"

Despite the harshness of the words, the edge of it all was blunted as Rath offered a faint grin toward Venril. The ferret and stoat sat by the edge of the river near their delegated training grounds, the latter very much flustered and out of breath. He glared up at his mentor.

"By all rights and purposes," he panted, "it doesn't even make sense." The captain kicked moodily at the water's murky surface, dashing it in all directions. "What in the world could Eliza see in that… that _thing?_"

Rath cocked his head. "For that matter, what do you see in _her?_" The warrior made sure to spend as little time around the persnickety marten as he possibly could, and there was a reason for that. "She's… disagreeable."

"Don't say that!" Venril snapped, and the ferret blinked. Such a heated response, and from Venril of all creatures, was an unexpected blow indeed.

"You're just saying that 'cause you don't know her," the stoat continued once he'd regained a bit more of his breath. "I know she can be a little aloof, but when you talk to her she's so witty and smart and-and...well, I mean, to go through all she's been through and still be like she is..." The stoat sighed in frustration. "I thought maybe she'd start to notice me, but then that bird comes along, and next thing I know she just brushes me off. I can't stop thinking about her, though."

The ferret narrowed his good eye. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." Venril glared at his own reflection. "I think she still sees me as just a squeaky little runt not even worth her time, though. I've learned so much from these practices, and I just wish there was some way to show her that I'm worth noticing. Or at least that I'm worth more than a bird."

In a moment's notice, Rath had drawn his axe and was on his paws. "Prepare yourself."

Venril blinked. "Wait, what? I thought we were taking a break!" he protested, struggling to assume a defensive posture as his footpaws scrabbled for surface on the slippery ground.

"You want to prove yourself worthy of protecting her?" Rath grunted. "Then you must be prepared at any moment." He smirked. "And you have to be able to defeat me."

The ferret watched as his apprentice leveled his sword in preparation to parry. Rath bit back a snarl; the stoat was still playing defensive.

And then, suddenly, it was as if an old oil lamp had shattered inside the stoat, and an odd light glistened and burned in his eyes. With a very Un-Venril-like roar, the stoat barreled forward, the fear that had lingered on his fur for the past few days all but burned away.

And Rath smiled. _Now. That's more like it._

He turned aside the questing sword with a clash of steel on steel, and knocked the stoat flat on his back with a mighty countering sweep of the axe. Like a spring, Venril was back on his footpaws in a beat. He dashed toward his combatant, performing an awkward, but earnest hopskip to the side as Rath's axe cleaved the air where he used to be, and then the stoat sliced at the ferret's side in a glancing blow that was just barely parried.

Battle fire burned brightly in Rath's veins; he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so _good_ about fighting. He stepped back, twirling his axe. "Hmph. Not bad, pup. Now—"

"Rath!"

The ferret gnashed his teeth, whirling on the unfortunate weasel loping toward him. Greenfang winced, backing away from the incensed warrior.

"Don't mean ter interrupt nothin', but Cap'n Matukhana wants ter see yer."

Rath scowled. "Can't it wait?" he growled. He was afraid that Venril might lose what little fighting spirit he'd had.

"Well…" The weasel fidgeted. "I wouldn't keep 'im waitin' if I were you. Cap'n's a bad sport about that kinda thing."

_By the claw!_ Rath gripped the axe so tightly that he felt as if he could have broken it cleanly in half if he wanted. _I've had enough of all this!_ His face, however, was kept dutifully blank. "Fine."

Turning to Venril, he shrugged. "Keep practicing. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Rath didn't wait for a response from either mustelid. Hefting his axe over one shoulder, he trotted down the tunnel. _This had better be good._

--

Rath could hear singing as he neared the main chamber, although _singing_ was probably too nice a term for it. Cracked voices in deep male growls that were echoed by more feminine caterwauls assaulted his ears before he could even hear the words.

The ferret stepped into the cave, and saw a group of vermin, mostly Matukhana's lot, lounged about around the fire. He could make out the lyrics just fine now.

"_If all them young lasses were cakes so enticing,  
I'd be the baker, and spread them with icing!"_

"_If all the young lads were lovely like gin,  
I'd guzzle 'em down, and they'd drip from me chin!"_

"_Roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
Roll your leg over,  
And sit on my face!"_

Rath gave a snort of mirth, noticing that the few woodlanders that were lingering in the room were shooting glares at the vermin and muttering darkly to themselves.

Turning away from them, the ferret pinpointed Matukhana himself and trotted over to the fox, who was standing apart from the reveling vermin, near another tunnel leading elsewhere.

The captain, seeing Rath approach, smiled so sweetly that it could have been spread on a scone. "Rath! Come, friend."

If the ferret hadn't already been suspicious, he certainly was now.

His hackles rose as he slowed to a stop beside Matukhana. "Hello, Captain," he murmured, his voice tight.

"Rath," the fox started. "I haven't told you, but I'm mighty proud of you. You fight like Vulpuz himself. The Fritterik love you. Proklyan's little lickspittles love you. Ah…" he sighed. "I'm beginnin' to wonder if there's anything you can't do."

The ferret shifted uncomfortably beneath the hail of praise. "Probably?"

Matukhana laughed. "Don't be so modest, cully! You've been a shinin' example of a crewbeast."

"Thanks." Rath scratched the tip of his nose. "Um, is that all you wanted to tell me?"

The fox's jovial expression sharpened just a little. "Now, don't go runnin' off yet. Listen close, now." He looked this way and that, his brush-tail flicking back and forth behind him as he leaned in. "You've done so well, I'm thinkin' of giving you an extra-special, secret mission."

Matukhana continued, striding down the passageway as Rath followed. "It seems that we've got a young lass in our midst with a sizable wealth, and she's promised it to us in return for safe passage home when we get out of this place." The fox's voice simmered with covetous greed. "However, due to her…" he coughed. "_unique_ personality, she's been subject to a number of threats from members of the crew."

He stopped walking and turned to face Rath. "She's no good to us dead. Your job is to make sure she stays alive. Got it?"

Rath snorted. "You expect me to play nursemaid to some cantankerous wench?"

The dog fox waved a paw in the air, a grin plastered on his narrow muzzle. "Oh, she's not all that bad. A little whiny, perhaps."

"It doesn't matter." The warrior narrowed his eye, stretching up to his full height. "I ain't gonna be stuck taking care of Miss Prissypaws day and night."

"If you don't mind," the new voice sliced through Rath like an icy blade, "my name is Eliza."

The ferret spun around to face the pine marten. If her expression was a bow and arrow, he'd have been pierced through at least five times.

Rath attempted to form some sort of useful counter-argument. "But… you… when… nerghr!"

It didn't really work out very well.

Gaining some semblance of coherency, Rath faced Matukhana. "You want me to guard _her?_"

Eliza seemed equally incensed. "What is the meaning of this? You've made _him_ my guard?" she demanded.

Matukhana shrugged. "You, Miss," he said, with a polite nod toward the marten, "should be thankful that you're getting' any sort of guard at all. And you," this was directed at Rath, "are still under my command."

He sniffed, brushing a speck of dust from his long coat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to have a word with my crew. Good day."

The fox sauntered town the tunnel, leaving two mustelids glaring daggers at his retreating back. _If only…_

"Well."

Eliza broke the silence, sniffing daintily. She glanced down her snout at Rath, as if he was a particularly vile sort of insect. "I suppose a brute like you will have to suffice."

The ferret growled. "Well, excuse me, princess."

"I don't." The scarred marten nodded promptly. "Nip along down to the kitchen and see if you can't scrounge up _something_ decent. I'm nearly famished, so do be quick about it." She set herself down. "I'll be waiting right here."

Rath stormed down the tunnel. _Unique personality my tail. Huh. I'll never get a moment's rest, now. I'd slice her in two as much as talk to her, the little…_ The paw he'd thrust into the pocket of his coat came into contact with the bag of Keane's balm.

An idea beginning to blossom, the ferret grinned as he ran the rest of the length to the kitchens.

--

"It took you long enough." Eliza rose to her footpaws as Rath approached, a tray balanced on one paw. "What have you got for me?"

The ferret set the tray on the ground. "All I could find was a bit of bread… but I did make you some tea." He shifted his gaze. "Perhaps we've started off on the wrong paw. This will make you feel better."

"Mm." Eliza nodded primly, taking the teacup. "Well. This is unexpected, slug-guard." She took a dainty sip and her eyes widened. "Quite good; thank you."

Rath watched, innocence in his eye, as the marten drained the cup with surprising speed. She was in the middle of her bread when she she dropped it awkwardly, staring at something unseen. Her tail nearly bottlebrushed.

"What have you done to me?" she protested. "What's going on? And..." she blinked. "Why won't the cave stop moving?"

"I'm not sure!" Rath said, grinning despite the shock in his voice. "I'd better ask somebeast. You stay here and keep an eye on it, and I'll be back."

Eliza blinked owlishly. "Y-yes. Do be quick about it. I'll just take care of this wall." The marten then proceeded to attempt to stab the rock wall with her knife as her bodyguard took his exit.

Rath was about to let out a well-deserved breath of relief when he nearly tripped over Damask. He frowned at the robin, who frowned right back at him.

"What are you doing?" The ferret demanded, gripping his axe a little tighter.

"I could ask you the same thing, ruffian!" Damask, who had been ruffled literally as well as figuratively, stopped adjusting his plumage to snap back. "If you must know, I'm going to see Eliza."

Rath balked; Eliza couldn't be seen by anybeast, particularly this little blister. He widened his stance. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am." The bird clacked his beak menacingly. "Stand in my way, and you shall regret it."

"No," Rath repeated. "Eliza needs her rest, and is not to be bothered, unless it's something important." He snorted. "Which you very much aren't."

Damask was livid. "This is absurd! Who are you to decide what Eliza needs?"

"I might not be," the ferret growled. "But she is. She told me herself."

"You lie!" the robin hissed. "Why, I bet you're holding her hostage, you brute! Let her go this instant, or I'll—"

Rath took a step forward. "You'll what?" He hefted his axe with menace. "Go ahead, bird, and I'll be more than happy to make two of you."

For a moment, it looked as if Damask might act on his threat, but he hop-skipped backward, glaring at the ferret. "This is far from over."

The warrior continued his sigh of relief from earlier as the robin retreated down the passage. He waited until he was sure it was safe, and then lumbered off. He'd return eventually, but first he needed a good rest.

And a pint of ale wouldn't hurt either...


	53. Interlude: Baez

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 53. Interlude: Baez  
**_  
by: Revel, Rath the Whirlwind, Eliza Lacrimosa, Venril, Damask the Minstrel, and Bellona Littlebrush  
Presented by Suellyn_

"I will start as far back as I have pieced together, if there is no dissent."

There was none, if you didn't count Eliza rolling her eyes in exasperation.

"This cave system had been built long ago, by vermin and woodlander alike. The history is etched into the walls themselves, by mole and rat working together. This hall itself - some of it is natural, and some of it is the product of countless seasons of excavation. Most of the tunnels thee have seen were built for mining ore. Almost every chamber where a family now resides has once been home to precious metals: bronze, iron, even gold."

"Gold!" Matukhana crowed. The fox quickly composed himself. "How fascinatin'."

* * * * * *

_The bird's words bounced around inside Matukhana's mind. As the fox made his way around the corridors, following the caves wherever they may lead, his mind continued to cut at the Gordian knot of his thoughts._

For one, he knew he couldn't trust the bird. The first time Damask had talked about the caves he was lying, of that there was no doubt. But... You can never be too sure with these old prophecies.__

Another dead end.

Cursing under his breath, the fox leaned back against the wall, taking off a boot and removing bits of the cave that had collected there. And there's the problem. I need that bird around in case there's more to that prophecy, but he's got the leverage on me.__

A pair of runty weasels came out of a nearby residence. One was carrying a most peculiar scent, almost flowerlike. Hmm... that bird's sweet on Mistress Marten. Perhaps she'd be willin' to cut a deal. But for the moment, more pressin' matters.__

The tod slipped on his boot and made his way back to the guest quarters, seeking out a certain brawny ferret who was idly sharpening his axe. "Rath? Have a moment, there?"

Rath narrowed his eye, keeping it on the axe in front of him. "I'm busy."

"While I'm sure your ears play an integral part in blade-sharpenin', I'm sure you can pry them away for just a moment." That got a reaction; the ferret's head rose as he eyed the fox before him. "Look, we both know Venril's not much of a leader, right?"

"He's coming around, I'd say."

"He's a prat." The fox spat to accentuate his position. "He's effective as a sail with a hole in it." Matukhana leaned in, muttering under his breath, "And he's not about to become a richbeast."

"Not interested."

The fox leaned back and plastered that toothy grin back across his muzzle. "That's just fine. It's good to not have a hang up about swag."

"I meant," the ferret replied, bringing himself up to his full height to look down on the Captain, "I'm not interested in working under you. You've already got me playing nanny to that marten. That's enough of a headache."

"Perhaps I should've made myself clear." The fox stood his ground. "Anybeast workin' for that snivellin' wretch will either obey me or die. You're a clever one. I assume you'll make the right choice."

He spun on his heel and strode out. By the Fates' Masts. If he's goin' to put up a fight, I better make sure he's got a knife in his back._ The fox risked a glance back, and noticed the ferret begin to fidget with his whetstone once more. _Then again, there's always a chance.__

Matukhana was good at games of chance.

* * * * * *

"Back then, everybeast lived equally, where they wished. Some preferred the cool city, others, the warmth of the world outside. The carvings I have noted then tell of a schism between forces. The woodlanders left the caves, and the vermin - oh, will thee pardon the term - remained. Peace soon resumed once more under this new arrangement, and trade began. Woodlanders grew food, and traded it for the metals the, ah - "

"We don't mind," Venril said. "Do go on."

" - vermin, then - the metals the vermin mined. I can only assume this was the fact for most of our history, for the markings following are much, much newer. It seems it was not many generations ago that an earthquake or other disaster caused the caves to begin collapsing, sealing everybeast inside. They were, as thee can see, able to survive, thanks to the underground river providing fish and drink, and of late we have been able to cultivate mushrooms..."

"Those're what brkich is made of!" Revel said.

* * * * * *

_Splish, splish, splish._

"Thrg," Revel said, spitting out the fish into the net. "That's 'ow you catch fish. None of this sissy net stuff! Gimme my dress back."

Trpcic and Zhipzi clapped appreciatively, the latter passing Revel her dress pieces after the stoat shook herself somewhat dry. Zhipzi tilted her head and ran her paws down Revel's back.

"What?" she asked, turning around.

Zhipzi held up her paw, showing the clump of fur. "Is falling off."

She tried to put the clump of fluff on Revel's shoulder and pat it back on. It simply drifted off again. The weasel grew agitated, trying to place the fur back on Revel as the stoat struggled back into her dress.

"Oi, knock it off," Revel scowled. "What's th'big fuss? 'm only just losin' my brown. It 'appens every winter." She grinned. "Th'white's so much nicer an' soft! See? It's growin' in here an' here..."

The other two females peered and patted her all around, marveling. Trpcic attempted to eat some of the brown fur Revel was shedding, while Zhipzi attempted to count all the spots of white that were showing up out of place. Revel enjoyed the attention, though she had to bat them off after a while when it got too ticklish.

They brought their catch of hantz_ back to the cooking huts, where Vakka-shin made entirely too much use of Deadtail's sword on them. Which, admittedly, was better than not using anything at all._

The huts were warm; Revel kept around them often, helping out with the massive requests for food at all hours. Fritterik would stop by with nets full of hantz_ and their arms full of strange mushrooms, which Vakka-shin and a host of other self-appointed cooks would take and prepare for the brkich stew._

Revel had single-pawedly turned the whole of Fritterik cuisine on its head - although she swore she could do better if one of the woodlanders had the presence of mind to fall off a ledge and break his neck. Vakka-shin had not taken kindly to her suggestions regarding the one-eyed hedgehog.

She did what she could, however, with a stolen knife from one of the corsairs. She taught them how to gut the fish and extract the bones before cooking. The stoat hummed along as she worked, throwing piles of guts into a large pot of boiling brkich. Strangely enough, it was generally agreed over dinner, that this made it much more palatable.

Revel stopped scraping the latest fish clean and stood up. Leaning out the door of the hut, she barked at the robin entertaining nearby.

"What're you stoppin' for?"

"Dear maiden, no more! I need to rest!" The bird mumbled something beneath his wing, which sounded suspiciously like 'Worse than the dibbuns.'

"Well, I'm still listenin'," she said. "So 'urry up with th'next one. Unless y'wanna rest up in this pot 'ere..."

With a sigh and a mournful gaze at the dark ceiling, Damask launched into a rowdy ballad about otters and ferrets engaged in a cook-off.

Revel wiggled along and continued to dice up the fish, whistling off-key.

* * * * * *

"Indeed. Now, if I may, I would like to begin my story. Attend, my friends, for it closely ties in with the Srechrrl.

"It was just a few seasons ago, when on a journey to a town to trade my produce for gifts for my family, I was taken by slavers. It was during my struggle that I lost my eye to them. They took me north, into Mossflower. I had been hearing awful things about a war going on, so when I had a chance, I escaped. I ran back south along the Broad Stream for a few days. I knew I was being followed, so when I found a crevice in the ground, I crawled inside to hide. I did not believe my nose at first, for I smelled fresh breads and vegetables from inside! It was such a long way to the bottom, I could not imagine anybeast choosing this as their home.

"When I at last reached the bottom, I found not only a multitude of food scattered around - some of it smashed, as if dropped from the hole I had come through - but over a dozen eyeless vermin! Yet they meant me no harm. They sniffed me, and touched me, and took me in. I later learned that I was a Vik'hrr Chivkis - half blessed. Whatever spirits they believe in had sent me, along with the food, from the sky.

"It took me many seasons to adapt to their way of life, and learn their language. Ahahah, but I am a slow learner - and much of my time was spent teaching them our language. For there were many others like me; woodlanders who had come in through the crevice seeking refuge. But it has been a long while since anybeast before me. I believe Tishka's father had been the last, when he himself was but an otter pup. And, alas, none of us have been able to brave the climb back out. Such escape eluded even the squirrels that found themselves here.

"I bet they were just lazy," Birch interrupted.

"Of course," the hedgehog continued, "Fritterik as they are, born inside the caves, are not allowed into the sanctums where the sky lets in. I myself am only allowed during special occasions. Only true Chivkis are allowed unfettered access - and how is a beast to climb out when he cannot see how or where?"

"So, are you telling me that not once has anybeast gotten out of here alive?" Eliza said. Her voice, though icy, cracked slightly.

* * * * * *

_Eliza's eyebrows settled into their usual furrow of disgust. She toyed listlessly with the small knife, and found that if she held it just so, it looked as though Slug-guard was spitted upon the blade's apex._

Try as she might, the pine marten couldn't piece together what had happened to her in the caves. She recalled the meeting with the obstinate fox captain, getting that lummox of a ferret assigned to protect her, and then... nothing.

She had awoken some time later, to a pounding headache and a grinning Slug-guard, who had invited her to come and watch the swordplay - if she felt up to it, of course.

She had acquired a poignant distaste for Venril's training routine, which seemed to generally consist of the twerpy stoat finding new ways to get himself disarmed. It was a dreary, depressing affair, but she stayed only because the other option was to sit about doing nothing.

It was, she determined, almost like a dance. Slug-guard was the lead partner, Venril followed, and between them they wove an erratic pattern of steps and thrusts, set to a beat of clanging weaponry. Eliza had to begrudgingly admire the stoat's tenacity. With every grunt, every clatter of his sword's latest attempt at emancipation, every whistling snarl of frustration, Venril seemed to chip away another small bit of the shrimpy weakling persona.

Every now and again the sweaty stoat would lock eyes with her, and she would toss him an obligatory encouraging smile. It was kind of sad, actually. With Matukhana safely tucked away in her pockets, Venril was no longer necessary. She would feel genuinely sorry - for a second or two - when it came time to cut the stoat loose.

On second thought, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to continue stringing him along. There was always a chance that Matukhana might double-cross her, and it never hurt anybeast to have a backup plan.

Another clang, another admonition from Slug-guard about properly gripping the sword handle. Venril adjusted his paws, squared off, and the duel began again.

Eliza settled back to get a better view. The pine marten sat in silent observance, not watching the fighters so much as the fight. Her mahogany eyes were studying, noting the outcome of every rush, every thrust, every block. Spot the unprotected neck here, the vulnerable stomach there. This attack failed, that one might result in a kill.

She hadn't had to fight, not yet, but who knew? That knowledge might come in very handy in the days ahead... 

* * * * * *

"Oh, not quite. Before my time, a few had indeed gotten out, through the very place _thy_ group came in. Trpcic - " he gestured to the old female stoat who had seated herself beside Revel - "knows of it, but she does not speak of it. Yrika Chivkis told me many Fritterik saw light that day, and became scared and mindless. Yet a few ventured into the light, never to be seen again. Trpcic's family among them. But that was many seasons ago, before many of us were yet born. It does not matter. May I continue my tale?"

"Yes, please," Bellona said.

"Where was... oh, yes. I was not the only one to arrive that fateful day. The two slavers who had tracked me, a ferret and a fox, also arrived. They kept themselves hidden at first, watching the Fritterik. And thee can guess what they saw in them. It did not take long for Fritterik to begin disappearing. Who knows what horrors those two have done to them? For they are the Srechrrl; beasts taken from their chambers and whisked away into the dangerous tunnels, where a wrong footpaw could cause permanent collapse. They are changed then, and when they return they are stronger, vicious, and hungry. They now take other Fritterik, for what purpose I can only guess. To turn them into Srechrrl, or eat them? The name Srechrrl means 'Strong Fangs' - thee have seen them. They are bigger, faster.

"They hunt us at the river, where we catch _hantz_ to eat. They raid our main hall every so often. There is little we can do. They are not normal beasts, content with taking - I have seen them myself, taking... taking very obvious pleasure in the horrors they commit. My slavers have done something inexcusable. And yet, I am not a fighting beast. I could only do so much in teaching the Fritterik to keep themselves safe.

"Thy arrival... everything about it is a miracle. Thee have knowledge! Thee have weapons! And even as outsider vermin, thee have shown thyselves to be... adequately trustworthy. Thee work together with woodlanders to help the other! True, the, er... incident with the wildcat was..."

"Expected," Bellona finished neatly. "We're only working with the vermin out of necessity. There's nothing more between us."

* * * * * *

_"Fox." Bell approached Matukhana, Birch and Giddy, the latter looking the worse for wear, backing her up._

"Mouse." The vulpine's grin was too wide as he lounged on a rock pile, watching as the Fritterik scurried about their 'daily' tasks.

"We need to talk," she pressed on, unwilling to acknowledge Matukhana's displeasure. "You know by now that Captain Sailpaw is dead."

"Oh, yes! Sorry, I forgot to congratulate you on your promotion, Captain." The grin morphed into a leer and it was only Giddy nearly jumping at the vermin that stopped Bell from doing it herself.

"Giddy, stand down," Bell commanded, Birch assisting her in holding the snarling hare back. Once the recruit had mastered himself, the dormouse turned her attention back to the amused fox. "Martin's Shadow doesn't acknowledge death as a legitimate reason for advancement," Bell recited, teeth clenched to keep from spitting. "Not that you vermin could understand, but I'm still Leftenant Littlebrush. What we need to talk about is this truce."

"Ah." The fox sat up, his suddenly rigid posture belying the nonchalance of his tone. "Well, that's somethin' you'll have to take up with Captain Venril. It was him you made the truce with, as I recall."

"Aye, but Venril couldn't captain wooden soldiers, let alone real ones." The dormouse snorted and was a bit disconcerted that Matukhana rolled his eyes and half-smiled, nodding quickly in agreement.

"You've a point there, mousey." He shrugged. "Well, then, I figure you'll go your merry way and me and mine'll go ours."

"How very non-vermin of you," Birch interjected.

Matukhana shrugged again, his leer returning. "I'm a reasonable creature is all."

"I don't trust you," Bell stated flatly.

"Mmm..." The fox's cold eyes turned on her, but she did not back down. "I bet you don't. But look at it this way: we'll each find out where the other stands once we're outta here." He winked at her, then relaxed back onto his make-shift throne, chuckling to himself. "Oh, and don't go thinkin' about usin' that birdy for a midnight stabbin'. I'm more partial to cooked robin meself, but if I find one hoverin' over me in the night... well... I've heard raw meat can be good for you now and again."

* * *

"Er... yes," The hedgehog's snout twitched worriedly before he continued. "Anyway, now the Fritterik have not only seasoned warriors to help them survive against the Srechrrl, but as soon as excavation is complete, they will have freedom. Just think of how many seasons they have waited for this..." The hedgehog smiled, tears streaming down his face and cares seemingly forgotten. "And I could return home to my family, my wife. Oh, Suellyn, your Baez is coming home..."

***  
_Damask was laying on his back in the sleeping chamber he shared with Bellona. It was an odd position, to be sure, but it was the only way to keep those accursed dibbuns away from him for even a moment. When he normally slept -- sitting -- they pounced him. If he wasn't laying like this, he apparently must be awake._

"You look ridiculous."

Damask turned his head to one side and regarded his comrade's footpaw. "Indeed, Bells. Choice between this or those miniature cretins..."

After a moment she hadn't responded. "What is it?"

"Nothing." The mouse shook her head and settled down onto her bunk. "Just... call me Bellona, okay?"

"I suppose, but... why?"

No reply.

"Bell -- Err, Bellona?"

"Just let it go, bird."

"Was it... something about a Fray-er?"

The sound of breathing from the bunk over stopped. After a moment: "What?"

"I... Well, I overheard you and Sailpaw in the tunnel before." The bird paused and gave a small cough. He continued, his voice quieter, "And you've been having nightmares. You talk..."

The mouse waited a beat before giving a small snort as a reply.

Damask sighed and sat up, regarding his companion. With all the insanity that surrounded his maiden, he'd almost forgotten his other duties. He reached his healthy wingtip over, to rest it on her shoulder. She moved it away from him. "I said leave it, Damask."

He pulled it back and stood up, eyes on the figure on the floor. She looked... small, for once. She always took up more space than it seemed, when you added that intensity, but lately--

The bird gave a small cough to clear his throat, then began to sing in a low voice. Not quite a lullaby, but soft and gentle.

I hear you cry for love that you have lost  
I hear your whimpers cutting through the night  
Oh Bells, you never knew how high the cost  
Until they've taken all you knew was right.

You go to sleep, they visit you in dreams  
The aspects of the maiden now at war,  
A lover or a fighter? Now it seems,  
There's no one left to love or to fight for.

Yet I can see there's more than that in you  
Oh, Bellona, the world is not so gray.  
For you've a heart that's loving, strong, and true --  
So listen as your comrade now does say:

There's beasts -- like I -- who need your strength and care  
So lead! Protect us from the evil here.__

No applause or smiles -- silence was the coda to his performance. Bells settled in further, huffing into her thin blanket. "It's rubbish."

Damask replied with a nod and a wistful smile, then hopped out of the chamber.

***

It was just as well the hedgehog was engrossed with his fond memories, because none of the woodland slaves could stand to look at him. Rugger opened his mouth as if to say something, but Bell shook her head sharply.

A hopeful guide was far more useful than a heartbroken one.


	54. Interlude: Rugger

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 54. Interlude: Rugger  
**_  
by: Revel, Rath the Whirlwind, Eliza Lacrimosa, Venril, Damask the Minstrel, and Bellona Littlebrush  
Presented by Suellyn_

Talk resumed again after a time. The vermin and woodlanders speaking over one another as they ate, until a lull in the conversation came and one voice rose above the others.

"What do you mean, Rugger?" Birch queried. "What story?"

"As Oi 'eard it from moi mum," Rugger began, "thurr's allus been a gurt h'evil in ee caves behoind ee falls. Oi never knew furr certain wot she bee'm sayin', but it sounded orful frightful to a wee liddle moler loike me. When Oi arsked too many questions, moi papa brought me to see ee Picshure Moun'ain an' tol' me 'orrible ghoster stories abowt ee carvin's in it!

"But then ee said, 'Rugger, us'n heirs o' Loam'edge bee'm given a gurt responserbil'ty to keep ee h'evil 'idden away, burr aye!' 'Is h'exact words." The mole nodded with certainty. "Oi never thought to arsk abowt ee story aggain."

"But the Fritterik are so peaceable!" Beaz gaped. "Even if they are of vermin ancestry - "

"Peaceable?" Bellona snorted. "It was one of these peaceable creatures that killed that wretch Deadtail."

"No' tha' we mind, ye ken?" Giddy added.

Bell nodded her agreement. "Not to mention the Srechrrl. Just Fritterik who've been taught to enjoy it."

"Oi doan't think it whurr ee varmints," Rugger said, shaking his head. "It whurr summat else. An' it got out not long ago..."

* * * * * *

_"Where did they come from, Ritchin? What do they want?"_

"Hush, hush... I don't know. They don't seem dangerous. They seem... confused."

"They're coming this way!"

"Hold steady - slings at ease! They're unarmed."

"They're unclothed!"

"Look how small, how thin they are. They're still only young beasts!"

"Some are turning back... good riddance!"

"Oh, hush, Adeny! Listen - they're trying to speak. Hello? Hello there! I am Ritchin, leader of this Oasis. Do you come in peace?"

"Ritchin... Ritchin, that's not talking! What are they saying?"

"Rigstern, please take Adeny away. She is quite agitated, and she is in no fit state. I and the others will stay to see to these beasts."

* * * * * *

Adeny watched the young weasels play-fighting in the stream. A larger one, a female with a black tipped tail - those were stoats, weren't they? - was giving them a sound thrashing. All in good fun, Adeny knew. Her own young would play in the stream someday as well.

She enjoyed watching the ver - no. They were good creatures. It was wrong to brand them as vermin. They were kind, and interested in learning. Even more interested in food, of course. The poor things were so weak, it was a wonder -

"Owowowow!"

"Yikker!" Adeny leapt to her footpaws and raced toward the scene. "Yikker, did you bite again? No! No! I said no biting. Oh, you darling thing."

The little weasel's leg was pierced deep. Adeny carried him into the stream and rubbed away until the fur was clean of desert-dust. There was more blood than she thought such a wound would cause - the mouse turned to watch a ribbon of it ease down the stream, towards the farm fields.

"Tsk, tsk. Bad Yikker, isn't she always biting?" Adeny mumbled. The little weasel nodded miserably as she applied a mud poultice to his leg and carried him inside to rest.

"Well, no dinner for her then!" she joked. The weasel laughed. But Adeny knew it was impossible. There was no way she would let any of them starve, even just for one meal. They were her children, until her own came. She would see them through.

The crops failed that season.

* * * * * *

"It was so wrong, so wrong," Adeny sobbed, rocking back and forth over Ritchin's body. "How many? How many did we starve? Just a stupid ritual, a waste of food. But it wasn't, was it? Our ancestors had their reasons. They're still in there, lost and alone, and they're starving. But we can't let them out - we can't! We mustn't! Ritchen - Ritchen speak to me. Tell me I'm right. I'm right, aren't I? We can't let them out. But they came out on their own, looking for food. And they found us. And they cursed as, as we had cursed them. The crops, the crops were enough, I thought. We could go upriver and scavenge, you said. But this, this is too much! Too much too much too much, oh, Ritchin... I couldn't let you. Why did you try to...? What in season's name - why would you try to bite our son?"

She dropped the knife in her paw and hugged her mate's body closer.

* * * * * *

"And you're sure they're gone?"

"Oi led ee liddle uns out far as Oi could starnd to go moiself, marm."

"We should have... done better by them. Drowning would be... or a knife... But who could bring themselves to?"

"Oi cain't say, marm..."

"Oh my seasons, what kind of beasts are_ we, Rigstern? To leave innocent young beasts to die out there?"_

"We'm just be doin' what we'm must, marm. Thurr b'aint no gudd way to go abowt doin' it."

"No... no, I suppose there isn't. But, Rigstern, I'll need your help more from now on. I can't lead the Oasis myself. And there's so much more to do. The ritual on top of the cliffs - we're going to bring that back. It had its purpose. And Picture Mountain. I need you to go there, and see what you can do about stopping... stopping more from coming out."

"Oi'll do whatever ee arsks, marm."

"Thank you. They weren't bad beasts... not bad beasts at all. I'd like for us to do right by them, from now on. As much as we can."

"An' moight I say, marm, ee liddle uns bee'm gurtly beoterfuls."

"Oh, Rigstern... You're so sweet!"

* * * * * *

"But none of us have been infected with any disease," Venril said.

"What about Sailpaw?" Bellona demanded.

"An' where's Figgums an' Jezzer, th'shrews?" Giddy said, ears pointed accusingly at the stoat. "I havenae seen hide nor hair o'em since after tha' Sketcherl attack!"

"My matey Redtail's gone, too," a searat complained.

"I haven't seen that ferret, whatsisname, Verand, for a while now, either."

"Haven't - why haven't thee been staying in groups?" Baez demanded. "I told thee to stay together, and to have one of the Fritterik accompany thee at all times outside thy chambers. Has nobeast heeded? None at all?"

"What, and have your jibberin' loonies tailin' us to the bog?" Matukhana said. "You said yourself, spikedog - the Stencherls or whatever they're called only get in through that main tunnel we came through. None of us have been stupid enough to wander around there, except the guards I stationed to protect your precious diggin' crew, so what's the problem?"

"Pitfalls!" Baez shouted. "Ledges! Moss-slickened passages! Not to mention there could be after-shocks from that earthquake - just because we haven't had but a few pile of rubble settling doesn't mean it can't happen!

"Have you ever been bitten?" Bellona asked coldly.

"Well, no, the Fritterik can't exactly bite a Vik'hrr Chivkis..."

"Why's that? Are one-eyed freaks so special?" Eliza snorted.

"As it happens: yes." Baez did not elaborate further and the marten made an impatient noise in the back of her throat.

"If ye've nivver been bitten, then ye cannae know, sir," Giddy picked up. "Pi'falls an' earthquakes migh' no' be th'worst o' oor troubles yet."

"This entire venture is a mess!" Birch wailed. "I just wanted to find my brother and give him this shell and now my hammer's been taken and..."

"Stop whinin'," Revel snorted.

Before Birch could find a suitable retort, a blind wildcat appeared. They recognized his sightless face as the leader of the underground world.

"Fritterik just tell me," Yriki Chivkis said, stepping up behind Beaz, "digging is finished. _Shrip_ leave when want."

A great whooping and cheering set up along the tables. When it died down a little, the wildcat continued, now smiling even wider:

"Vik'hrr-Chivkis Baez? Your time come. Follow me, and let honour be on you."

The hedgehog visibly paled. "No... no! I regret to say so, but thou'rt mistaken... I am not worthy."

"Leadership of _shrip_ is much good. There no arguments. Chivkis must honour you."

"What's going on?" Bellona whispered. "What's this about?"

"I think I know." Rath's features darkened.

Baez positioned himself near Bellona.

"No, Yriki! No - I want to see the outside. I am leaving!"


	55. Ode to Good Neighbor

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 55. Ode to Good Neighbor  
**_  
by Bellona _

_Good threats make good neighbors._

_Ten days,_ Bell thought. _How could so much've happened in just ten days?_

They marched along excitedly toward the exit of the thrice blasted caves, woodland slaves and the remnants of Martin's Shadow -- _An army of two. Hah!_ The dormouse was hard-pressed to keep a mad grin from spreading across her face. She had to keep it together, just as she always kept it together. Oh, but wasn't it just the height of hilarity -- a leftenant with no captain and a recruit greener than the new berries on a juniper bush?

_Sailpaw'd know what to say to him right now if it'd been me._ The realization was disheartening enough to subdue her minor bout of hysteria. She furrowed her brow unconsciously. Baez, a constant presence beside her -- as if expecting some special protection -- glanced at her, concern evident in his gentle eye.

"Are thee all right?" he queried.

Bell merely grunted and increased her pace, drawing even with Damask, who hopped along a few steps in front of the woodlander clump. That was something the dormouse most definitely did not like. The vermin crew and a few curious Fritterik formed an unwelcome guard around them -- _Like a horde surrounding an unprepared training camp full of recruits and tired old warriors._

She set aside the worthless comparison and instead focused on the robin beside her. Although his expression held as much hope and relief as the next beast, a twinge of pain at each jolting step tarnished the sentiment. Damask hadn't spoken about the wing injury he'd incurred at some point in the last week and a half, which meant it definitely hadn't been Venril doing. That left only one beast with enough enmity and iron to attack him.

"What's your read on Matukhana?" Bell asked, startling the bird from whatever fantasy he had been lost in. She almost smiled, not the mad grin she'd fought to contain before, but a genuinely affectionate curl of her mouth. For a moment, he'd reminded her just the tiniest bit of Freyr when he was engrossed in his clay shaping or painting -- so easy to surprise, then.

"My read?" The bird blinked thoughtfully before launching into a quiet, yet somehow grandiose description. That was another of Damask's special talents -- _He's an entire troupe in one._ Comedian and tragedian, hero and villain, noblebeast and spy, comrade and enemy. Just how many costumes did the robin own? And how many did she put on herself?

He'd seen her without her costumes -- naked, not undressed, but truly naked and vulnerable. There were no costumes to wear in the night when old friends and foes united to plague her dreams, and he had seen that. He had seen and, instead of turning away with an uncomfortable laugh as Sailpaw would have, he had pressed and pressed. She hated him for that…and she loved him.

"He's not the cleverest creature to walk this land," Damask shook her from her thoughts as he began, "but he's no fool, either. He cares only for what others will give him, not what he has to work for. He sets his sights on the tangible because he has no imagination for what could be, only what is. And…"

"And?" Bell prompted.

"And he would stab his own mother in the back," Damask concluded. "Whether she deserved it or not."

"Oh, I think she'd deserve it," the dormouse commented with a flash of teeth that might generously be called a smile. "The beast who birthed that blackguard'd deserve anything she got."

"Hmm…" was all Damask had to offer on the subject, for at that moment they both had more pertinent concerns than a vermin captain's character. Mainly, the treacherous scree at the base of a slope leading to an even more precarious stretch of rubble above. She noted the Picture Mountain off to one side and glanced ahead where the fox in question was already defying the steep incline with the Fritterik chittering encouragement at him. Bell started up, praising and cursing the diggers in equal measure for their efforts to open the passage as quickly as possible.

= ~ = ~ =

The descent from the shifting mountain of limestone proved faster and less dangerous than the ascent, but everybeast agreed that a halt was in order after the last creature had crossed the threshold. Some time later, Bell stood, stretched and ordered, "Move out."

It was a queer sensation. She was used to commanding others, as Leftenant Littlebrush to Captain Sailpaw, it was second nature. But for her to have decided those orders on her own, nobeast to ask for confirmation? _Queer._ The woodlanders, Fritterik, and even a few of the more compliant vermin moved to obey, but another voice stopped them.

"I'll move when I feel like it, mouse," Rath challenged. Silence fell like a hail of arrows, turning the beasts in the tunnel into staring corpses. Even the simple Fritterik sensed the tension in the air and stilled.

"I said 'move out', ferret," Bell repeated coolly.

"I said 'no'," Rath sneered. They glared at each other in the dim light cast by the holes in the ceiling and walls of the tunnel, each daring the other to look away first.

"What's the point in sittin' around, then, cullies?" Matukhana wondered aloud, standing and breaking the spell. "I want to get out of these bleedin' caves." Without preamble, he stumped onward. First one by one, then in pairs, then in a mass, the other creatures sitting about began to follow until it was only the warriors left, the ferret reclining, the dormouse at attention.

"It's a draw, then." He spat, stood, and hurried after the others. Bell followed reluctantly.

= ~ = ~ =

"What do you mean enslave the Fritterik?" Venril's shrill demand carried clearly over the chatter near the front of the crowd. Bell was surprised to see the devious stoat's paws balling into fists as he directed his glare at Matukhana. She'd noticed him becoming less…submissive in the caves under Rath's training, but to openly defy the fox captain?

_Unexpected._ If he was a poisoner, keeping a low, unobtrusive profile should have been the top of his list. He was, then, either incredibly stupid, or… _The plague. Could Sailpaw have…_

"They've no notion of such things," the mustelid continued, "and we were supposed to be helping them escape the underground, not taking advantage like the Srechrrl."

"Don't get your tail in a twist, boy." Matukhana shrugged noncommittally as he strode toward the flickering, twisting light of the waterfall exit not twelve badger-lengths away. "We need slaves to rebuild the ship if we want to get out of here. The more slaves, the faster that happens, as a wise beast reminded me recently." Bell's head jerked up sharply at this statement, but all she could see was the tod's back and scraggly tail.

_That conniving, snot-nosed Chickenhound..._

Before she could even begin to calm them, a shiver of fear ran through the woodlanders, pincered between the Srechrrl in the dark behind and Matukhana's horde in the light ahead. Muttering broke out.

"Oh, Hellgates, I don't wanna be a slave again."  
"Boo hurr! That foxer bee'm a rotten likkle creature!"  
"What can we do, mates? Go back? We're tryin' t'get out o' this hole."  
"We could figh'!"  
"An' get slaughtered? How many vermin d'ye reckon are out there, longears?"  
"If I just had my hammer I could–"

"Enough!" Bell hissed at them. She hadn't anticipated Matukhana's decision to enslave the Fritterik and his words sounded clearly what he thought of the truce she'd made with Venril at the start of these troubles.

_Well then,_ the dormouse decided, paw coming up to rest on the hilt of her dirk, _it's time I take the initiative._

"Damask." She motioned to the harried robin who hopped over to her. His creased brow and puffed feathers broadcasting that he was none-too-pleased with the sudden turn of events.

"When we're tenpace from the waterfall," the dormouse murmured as Venril's indignation crescendoed, "I'm going to attack Matukhana, hold him hostage. It's the only way we'll get out of here without going straight back to chains. When that happens, I need you to fly out. I'm sorry. I know you're wounded, but I need you to do this for me. You'll only get hurt in these tunnels if a serious battle breaks. I need to know where the crew are outside. We'll need an escape route with the least vermin on it. You'll be able to direct us. Understand?"

No posturing or stately speeches to accompany the minstrel this time, but the robin's words meant just as much to her as any epic poem he could compose. "Of course, Bellona."

"Thank you, Damask." She let herself smile, truly smile, for the first time since Freyr. Two seconds later, the emotion was gone and the mask of indifference replaced it. The warrior had to be careful about anybeast seeing her so weak. Affection, she had learnt the hard way every time, could cripple a creature at the worst possible moments.

She waited for another few seconds, sidling forward, setting up a straight line to Matukhana, and when Venril threw up his paws in frustration, shouting, "I won't let you do this!" she made her move.

"Oi!" was all the warning the fox captain had as Bell shoved Revel's incredible bulk to the side and bounded forward. She drew her blade in one smooth motion and leapt, landing squarely on the tod's back, forcing him to rock forward precariously, then bend over backward as her dirk came to rest at his throat.

"Hellsteeth!" the captain snarled. Everybeast had stopped moving, though the exit was right before their eyes.

All at once, action resumed as Damask took an ungainly hop and launched into the air. His wings battered unsuspecting beasts to the side. Angry shrieks were accompanied by a cacophony of pained squawks from the bird. Bell followed him with her eyes as he narrowly escaped; one wing brushing the edge of the exit as he dropped back to his claws to avoid the waterfall, and with a muttered curse, he was free.

Moments later, everybeast with a weapon had it out and pointed at the nearest foe. Woodlander and vermin crew were evenly matched. The Fritterik, confused, squeaked and tried to squeeze themselves into crevices in the walls.

The stillness fell again as each side waited for the other to take action. Finally, Matukhana growled, "What the Hellgates are you doin', mouse?"

"What I should have done a long time ago," Bell replied, blade biting into the fox's neck and drawing just a trickle of blood. He hissed sharply, but did not give any other verbal indication of his obvious discomfort.

"Now listen to me, you vermin scum," the dormouse continued, feeling ridiculous. Speeches were Sailpaw and Damask's proper battleground. "We're not going to be your slaves. I've played nice 'til now because of the truce, but by the Fates, I'll slit this blackguard's throat if you try to enslave anybeast here."

"You're mad." Venril spoke up. "Do you have any idea how this will end? You're just going to get everybeast here killed."

"Quiet, stoat. You vermin're going to just hold while we leave the cavern first. I don't care what you do after -- go build your own bloody ship to plunder and pillage for all it matters to me -- but right now you're just going to hold. Giddy, Birch, Rugger, everybeast, keep your blades up, but start moving toward the waterfall. Come on now. Move!"

They obeyed and the vermin, whiskers twitching and bodies rigid, watched them go. "But what about the Fritterik?" Venril demanded.

"What about them?" Bell quirked an eyebrow. The frightened creatures had remained rooted since the ordeal began.

"They're going to be turned into slaves, too," the stoat explained impatiently. "That's wrong."

"Slavery is wrong, vermin."

"Then why aren't you helping them?" He bared his teeth.

"Why's it my responsibility?" Bell rejoined.

"Because you're saving the others."

"Well, why don't you do something about it if you care so much?"

"Maybe I will!" the stoat shouted.

"Fine!" the dormouse hollered back.

"Then maybe we should work together!"

"Maybe we should!"

"Why are you screaming at me?!" he snarled.

"Because you're screaming at me!"

An abrupt silence fell and the mad grin threatened to return. She'd just made another truce with this possible backstabber in the heat of the moment. _When did I start getting so green?_

What was done, was done, though. The woodlanders had assembled at the mouth of the waterfall and waited for Bell who began shifting back slowly, allowing Matukhana just enough room to tip-paw back with her. Venril followed, though the other vermin remained fixed.

A sudden trill startled everybeast, though Bell maintained her outward poise so her hostage wouldn't have any clever ideas.

"They're attacking!" Damask puffed, landing in a skitter of claws and loose stone.

"Who's attacking?" Birch growled, gripping her unwanted sword. "The vermin?"

"No." The robin's face lit up. "The woodlanders! Woodlanders are charging the camp!"

Bell couldn't have asked for a better diversion. "Well," she addressed Matukhana more than his crew, "we're finished, then." He relaxed just the slightest bit. "But this is for Damask."

Without preamble, she wedged her dirk blade between his teeth and jerked back. The fox thrashed violently as the soft flesh of his tongue and cheek gave, but the dormouse had already let go and turned tail to…

"Run!"


	56. Fatality

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 56. Fatality  
**_  
by Rath_

"Attack!"

Rath bristled. To put it mildly, this was not the welcome to the outside world he had been expecting.

The ferret stood back for a moment and took in the sight of the newborn battle, squinting against the unfamiliar light from above. The one-eyed mouse that lead the band of mostly woodlanders seemed familiar to him, as did the armed mole at her side. He snorted at that; as if moles could fight.

Rath felt himself jostled from behind as Matukhana's vermin ran to meet the attacks of the emancipated slaves. He gripped the axe in his paws, but felt a chilling fatigue sap his strength. They were all so eager to attack one another time after time. When would he ever be free from this pointless bloodshed? It was as if he had never left the coliseum at all; he was simply performing for new masters.

At the thought, he scanned the melee in hopes of pinpointing Venril, but it was nearly impossible amidst the howling, screeching mass of beasts. He did see Bellona, however, and a low growl rumbled from the depths of his throat as he saw her stab a fox in the back. _Disgusting creature._

She wasn't like the others. This mouse was dangerous; a mass-murderer. He had to bring her to justice.

Rath rushed forward to meet her, axe at the ready.

He was but ten paces from the mouse when something odd glimmered at the edge of his sight and he slowed to a stop. Turning his full attention to the left, he saw Eliza and snorted. The pine marten was a truly pitiable sight, cowering with her ears flat against her head, intent on making herself as small a target as possible.

The truly interesting part of it, however, was the monitor lizard creeping up behind her. Rath had never seen a monitor before, but he supposed there was nothing else for the hulking, scaled creature to be.

Rath turned his attention toward the dormouse just once more. _I'll deal with you later, mouse._

The ferret turned his back on Bellona and thundered across the sand to intercept the menacing lizard, striking with terrible force. Medjool went down in a heap, but was back on his footclaws in an instant. Hissing viciously and bleeding all along the right of his face, the lizard cut a terrifying sight, one to match even that of the scarred ferret facing him.

Even with only the use of his claws, the monitor was a tough opponent. The sand underpaw was churned blood red as the two goliath combatants engaged in a dance of death. Rath sliced at the monitor, who shrieked in pain and lashed back, pushing back against the blade in a monstrous show of strength. The ferret hopped backward, causing Medjool to stumble forth, and turned aside the blade in a stunning smack to the lizard's forehead.

Just as Rath lunged forward to deliver a final, devastating slice, the lizard rolled to the ground and lashed out with his tail in one fluid motion, tripping the ferret warrior. Rath kicked his footpaws straight up just as he felt needle teeth snap at his neck-fur. The monitor was thrown backward with a 'whoosh' of air. Rath got to his footpaws to see his combatant do the same, and they rushed to meet each other, snarling their hatred.

Rath moved to parry a swift strike to his side, and leaped back, sucking in his stomach to avoid a blow from the monitor's wicked claws that would have surely opened him up. The monitor kicked up sand as he feinted at Rath's other side, but this time the ferret was prepared. Catching Medjool off guard, he bulled forward and...

The ferret let out a bark of shock; the monitor's tail had snapped off! It squirmed and slithered like a snake, and the ferret wondered for a moment whether he should attack it, just to make sure it wasn't alive. Looking up from the dismembered appendage, he blinked; nobeast. The monitor had disappeared into the sands, likely looking for an easier meal.

If it was lucky.

The ferret coughed, and winced at the action. It hurt a lot more than it should have. Turning, he scowled.

Eliza was standing there, her face ashen. The look of a fresh fighter still unfamiliar with blood. _Should have ran away…_ A painful lump formed in his throat, but he didn't pay it much heed; he'd have a few new scars after that little bout.

The marten ran forward, and Rath, expecting some sort of reprimand, nearly drew back when she threw her paws around him.

"Rath... I... thank you." She stepped back. "… You're, um, bleeding a bit…"

Rath strained to see what she was talking about. Blood was pattering with an oddly soothing sort of rhythm onto the sand at his footpaws. He followed it up, tracing the horrendous slash that ran from his flank to his throat with a detached interest.

_Well. Suppose I'm gettin more 'n a few scars after all._

He would have laughed if he could.

"G'way," he gurgled, pushing the marten roughly aside. "You'll… get in th' way."

"But," Eliza took a tentative step forward. "You need hel—"

"I wouldn't have saved your worthless hide if it meant I'd end this way, wench!" Rath snarled, each word burning on its way out. "Go!" The marten shot him a conflicted glance and then fled.

The ferret fell to his knees, gritting his teeth and leaning heavily on his axe. One time, seasons ago, he'd fancied himself dead. Tossed in a ditch and bleeding from countless wounds; worthless. The pain was nothing compared to this.

And yet...

It was nothing alike at all, he realized. Something was different, and yet he couldn't put a claw on it.

He clutched the coat tightly in his paws.

Suddenly, the beasts fighting around him all but dissipated. Up ahead in the distance, Rath saw a shimmering light. Straining to see against the encroaching dark, he seized up; a corpse lay in the last rays of the sun, rotting to the harsh dirge of a crow, and his spirits sank. _Nothing has changed._ he thought bitterly. He didn't matter then, and he never had.

And then, from the very sand itself, a tiny sapling sprouted, He watched as it grew and grew, a monstrous thing, twisted and powerful. It's roots spread into the ground right up to where he lay, and eventually the barren desert scape was all-but devoured by it.

The body itself rose and padded toward the ferret, shifting and morphing until Rath grinned in recognition.

"Keane."

This time it was the real Keane; he knew it. The malice from the nightmare was completely gone.

"This… is it, then?" the ferret asked.

The cat nodded. "Yep. Sorry to say so, friend."

"I suppose it could be worse," Rath murmured.

It was nothing like it had been, in the dream, or in the vision. The horrid pain had hallowed him out and left him empty. But what of this emptiness?

When the battle ended, many others would have died. But, for now at least, a pine marten and two stoats would be safe.

And he smiled.

The ferret slowly rose to his footpaws. Somewhere off to the side he saw his body shutting down, the rattling breaths slowing.

Rath turned his good eyes away and crossed the distance toward his friend. "Let's go."

And they did.

end of week four.


	57. Both Sides Now

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

start of week five.

**Chapter 57. Both Sides Now  
**_  
by Damask_

Damask had almost forgotten how sweet outside air could be -- had almost gotten used to the caves. When the first ray of real sun hit his feathers, it was almost scalding. He could feel the clamminess of the underground steaming away and the sunlight purifying him. It was almost strong enough to make him forget: forget the pain in his wing that intensified with every flap and every cross-breeze, forget the music, forget his love.

_Eliza!_ The thought snapped Damask out of his exultations; he brought his head around to the battle below. She was down there, somewhere in the melee.

_There!_ He caught sight of the marten backing away from -- Rath! He was there, holding his side, his fur matted with gore from the battle. As Damask began to descend, he saw the ferret sink into the sand.

And as the maiden ducked into the cave  
Our hero to the maid did fly to save.

Before that, however, Damask stopped by the fallen Rath. With a claw, he prodded the ferret. When there was no reply, Damask felt his spirits lifting -- first he was free and now this brute was dead!

He called her name yet received no reply  
The hero bard did give a second try.

After a moment an idea came to Damask. If she was worried it wasn't safe, perhaps he should simply try to assuage her fears -- show her that she was safe with him. So, with a soft tone, he began to sing to her:

"_Fear not, o maiden, gentle true  
For I have come to save you from  
What any beast would seek to do  
And so, my maid, do take my wing and come.  
We'll fly from here --_"

"Ssst!" The marten's melodious voice came from up ahead. "Are you insane? You're going to get us killed!"

"Miss Eliza, I promise it's safe." The robin hopped forward, holding out a wing to her.

"I can still hear them." Her voice was flat, unresponsive, and she shrank back from the bird -- and the outdoors behind him.

The bird took a look over his shoulder, but only shrugged at her comment, "True, but I'll protect you, and one of the biggest threats is taken care of."

"What do you mean?"

"That horrid Wrath beast, Miss Eliza! He has been slain."

She was silent, which was puzzling to the bird, but he plowed forward with his assessment, nonetheless, "Oh yes, ma'am. I mean, he was a frightening brute, was he not? Why, back in the caves, he threatened me for trying to see you. I say we're better off without --"

"You incompetent little fool!" Her sudden outburst caused Damask to take a step back.

"But -- what did I..."

The marteness stepped out of the gloom, her face still fearful, but plastered with a mask of fury. "Get out of here, Damask."

A tentative wing reached out for her, but she slid back into the gloom, "Just go."

Everything started to go wrong, somehow. Damask tried to reply, to assure her, but his throat was closing in panic. He could feel the cave begin to close in, not collapse, but threaten to swallow him whole. The fresh air that he just tasted beckoned to him again, an offer of freedom and a world that was righted. Yet, he wanted to reach out to her, to explain that he was right and good, but --

The bird whirled in place: past logic, past hearing the sounds of battle, and past caring about safety or caution. He took to the wing as soon as he could, tilting a wing to veer past the waterfall. Behind him he could feel the clammy air closing in on his tailfeathers, trying to suck him in. He gave a loud squawk, pushing himself as hard as his wing would allow.

A loud, panicked bird is a very inviting target.

The slingstone connected with Damask's good wing and sent him into a tumbling roll into the edge of the waterfall. He gave another cry as the water pulled him into the depths.

He couldn't find his way back up! His whole life had been an infinite sky, yet the bird could find nothing, just inky blues in every direction. He released a stream of bubbles as he tried to scream, his chest burning, eyes seared by the water. He could feel the choking -- his thrashing was slowing as the pain spread in his chest. The world began to grow dimmer and the only sound was his heartbeat and the roar of the water all around him. His mind grew sluggish, _The end! She said -- and now I'm --_

_You know_, murmured the Softleaves voice in his ear, _her reaction sounds awfully familiar._

But Damask couldn't remember...

_Let me show you_

As Damask felt the choking panic begin to ebb, he allowed the dark to envelop him -- to drown out light and warmth and hope.

---

The light that struck his face was harsh, blurring the landscape before him, yet dulling the colors, drowning them with its enveloping, assimilating glare. The colors seemed wrong, as well: lush greens and deep browns in the land of sands? Damask rubbed his eye on the back of a wing, trying to slear his vision.

It didn't help. However, the bird found that if he squinted, the world came into some kind of focus.

A whistle erupted in his ears, breaking his concentration and send the world back into a whorl of colors, which began to move in time with the jaunty tune.

Still focusing on the landscape, Damask turned, scanning his surroundings to find the music's source. It was a young bird.

Damask felt a twinge of jealousy. He was a dapper fellow, his pinions shining and strong. His hopskip movement had more bounce than otters at gambol. He had his chest out, displayed proudly -- an orange to rival a sunset. Most of all, though, his voiced pierced the wood, bouncing between the empty trees, making a round of his solo.

It was a cheery carol he sang, and Damask knew it well:

_'Twas a fair December morn, O shoo da lolly day.  
The jill 'n 'ob did tarry there, O derry down a day.  
And yet because they were not shorn, La strum da leedle ay.  
The snow did 'ide the 'ob from 'er. O derry down a day._

"Cheery nonsense again?" The voice from above was a sharp dissonance to the song. It was high and reedy -- demanding -- a voice that would tax your ears for the listening.

"Ah, my love!" Against all possibility, the robin on the ground beamed all the brighter. He leapt into flight, flapping to the nest high above, "I have wonderful news!"

"Another bumpkin tried to pay you with cake?" Her scornful query cut into his mood.

Still, the young fellow was not deterred, "No, my love, look!"

He removed a small pouch from around his neck and tossed it onto the nest's floor. The female tore into it, her eyes gleaming in the dappled daylight. She crooned at the shine that met her as the last of the pouch fell away, "Silver..."

"Indeed, silver!" The young robin burbled happily. "I wasn't expecting it, but I performed so well! I've never heard a crowd like this one--"

"Which song did you use?" Her tone dropped an octave.

The fellow seemed taken aback, "Err... well, there were a few..."

"You used it, didn't you?"

He backed up slowly, his wings upraised, "Now, love, I told you I'd compose a better one for you, and you seemed to like the idea. There was just this wedding, and it seemed --"

She cut him off with a screech, the volume palpable even to Damask, who was simply looking in on the scene, "You simpering, incompetent fool!"

She batted at the meager metallic offering before her, showering the young male with coins. He cowered at the reaction and the crescendo that followed, "They are mine! How dare you give them the same words you gave to me!"

"I'm sorry!"

She stood over him, the very picture of beautiful fury. Glaring down at the huddled mass of feathers, she began, "You're pitiful. Singing about great deeds, all while hiding under your wing. Singing _my_ songs for some _other_ beasts' wedding, coming back with this -- pauper's purse."

"I'll do better!" The promise came in a cracked voice that was muffled by a wing.

"You'd better."

The lad emerged from behind the feathered shield, "I will! Soon, I'll be at Redwall or one of the southern castles." He took a tentative hop forward, letting hope shine in his eyes. "In a proper palace for my lady."

The world shifted again, for just a moment, and the scene before Damask changed. The female was gone, as were a good number of objects from about the nest -- anything that could reflect light. The young robin was still there, though he lacked the polish of before. His feathers were in disarray and he slouched against the side of the nest. He was fidgeting with an object in his claws, and all the while his beak was moving.

Damask moved forward, swimming through the fog of this odd reality. As he came closer, he could hear the bird muttering: "...said. I can't believe that's what she said. 'Never again.' Never again, what does that mean? The songs for her -- why, I'd never sing them! Never! An' it was getting better, though. I mean, she seemed happy, right? I always got back each night, and I was doing well, so well."

The bird looked up at the air in front of him and continued, his voice soft and shame-filled, "I know she needed more, but... I won it for her. She's just -- maybe out for a flight? Or to visit an old friend, perhaps."

The bird set the object on the floor of the nest in front of him: a bronze bangle. "I need to just keep doing more and bringing it here. For when she gets back."

Damask felt the familiar weight around his right leg -- of that same piece of jewelry -- that he'd worn since he could remember.

The world dissipated before Damask's eyes to be replaced by darkness and the Softleaves voice -- a voice he had just heard a moment before in that strange vision, _Now, do you understand? About her?_

It couldn't be true, though. _Eliza_ is _different. I know she'll come back to me._


	58. I'm Learning to be Brave Part I

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 58. I'm Learning to Be Brave In My Beautiful Mistakes- part I  
**_  
by Revel _

Revel dropped the knife and dabbed her paws into the oasis pool, then began pawing frantically at her face until she could see with both eyes again. The sling stone hadn't hit her; it had bounced off Vakka-shin's head. She had been caught in the resulting spray. Zhipzi had taken his sword and poked him with it, demanding he stand up again. That was the last Revel had seen of the weasels, or much of anything else for that matter.

She squinted at the sun's flashing off the water - all tinted red now. It made her reflection look pink, now that her white ventral fur was creeping around her sides to complete her winter molt. Her tail only had a few stray brown hairs left.

The stoat kept hunkered down, but raised her head and peered around at the village, trying to judge where everybeast was. This battle was much larger than some band of vermin scaring a couple travellers. She had never seen anything like it. The screams carried on the wind - as little of it there was, it felt wonderful to feel her fur lifted and tugged against the grain. It's warmth tickled her, caused her neck and tail to bristle with pleasure.

She had to get moving.

"Rivvil!"

A scraggly tuft of weeds rustled, and an otter came rushing at her blindly, covering his face with his paws and wailing. It was Tishka, the Fritter, who had so boldly followed them out into the light and somehow managed to survive this far down from the caves.

Revel's first instincts were to kick him into the pool and let him drown, if only to shut him up; the poor creature was setting up an awful din, sure to draw attention of somebeast. If only he wasn't an otter!

If only she hadn't taught him how to swim and catch fish in his teeth...

Tripping him up, she sat on his chest, whispering soothes to him in the Fritterik tongue. The otter calmed, but did not take his paws away until Revel forced her headscarf between them and his eyes. She tied it off behind his head and rolled off. She picked up her knife and held it out in front of her, wishing she had her old cutlass.

"Follow," she said, when he had stood up again. She grabbed his paw and hauled off. They didn't get far before something more colourful caught Revel's eye.

It was the robin, Damask, beached on the shore with his grey legs sticking in the air like broken masts. By pure chance his beak and head were just above the waterline, bobbing gently. His feathers shimmered hypnotically in the sunlight, though the overall look of the bird was wet and frazzled.

Revel tore her gaze away and had begun to move off again when it occurred to her: it would be a shame to let waste such a wonderful wellspring of music.

This was stupid. She was being stupid. The clap and tink of metal still pocked in her ears, only just barely overwhelmed by the thundering of the falls. She shouldn't be doing this, saving beasts. She ought to be running, fast and far away as she could, until it was all over. But Tishka, he was a Fritter - like Zhipzi and Trpcic, even if he was an otter. Wasn't that supposed to be important? Rath had said so. The Fritterik were worth fighting for. Wasn't that why they were coming out of the caves in the first place, to get away from the Srechrrl?

And the robin... well, he would make a good meal, if nothing else. Revel remembered too clearly how it had gone for her when she'd run away without first packing a lunch.

"Stay," she said, pulling downward on Tishka's arm . The otter was astute; he let himself fall into a crouch. Bowing his head, Tishka snuffled and licked at the air, cupping his paws around his tiny ears as if that would help filter the sounds invading his blackened world.

Revel hauled Damask out of the water by his tail-feathers. The bird was an awkward shape, though light enough. There was really no proper way to carry a bird that was alive, as far as Revel knew. She was used to having a team of foragers helping carry their kills back to camp. And as reviving him right here would be too dangerous...

Turning to Tishka, Revel rattled off a quick, if clumsy, explanation of her plan. The otter nodded with a "Yikyik."

Dropping to all fours, Revel grasped Damask's neck gently in her jaws. In fits and starts, she began dragging him away from the water's edge, her long neck lifting him clear of her paws and the harsh ground. His wings trailed off to the side, thankfully out of her way.

She was uncertain if more woodlanders were waiting in the shadow of the cliff, so she headed out towards the desert, in the opposite direction than where the fighting had begun. Her dress skirts scraped along the sand; her stomach just barely.

Every few steps she would growl, and Tishka would stumble after the noise.

It was so very hard not to just crunch down...

Bit by bit, the village dwindled behind them, until at last the sounds of battle were no more. This wasn't safe enough, Revel knew, but she was tired. Not far off to her right was one of the outlying farm fields. Revel headed towards it. It had been too long since she'd last rolled around in grass, or any other non-moss plant life, and it would hide them fair enough until nightfall - and, oh, how the stars and moon would shine all the brighter for their absence!

Tishka stopped at the edge of the field, feeling the long amaranth stalks with his paws. Revel let Damask down and grabbed the otter's arm again.

"'s just grass, 's not gonna 'urt you. It's bushes what've got prickles an' itchy leaves."

"Im gr_ee_ss?"

"Aye, now shurrap an' - ooh, look. There's an 'ut over there... No, y'gotta take off th' - oh, nevermind."

Revel had never seen it before, all out by itself near the far corner of the field. She went down to pick up Damask, but stopped and inspected his neck. The short floofy feathers were glistening with her saliva, and one spot looked like one of her incisors had punctured him. That wasn't good. He needed that throat for singing.

The hut wasn't far away, and the grass wouldn't pay no mind to his bulk being dragged across it. Hopefully his bulk wouldn't pay no mind either. Revel tipped the bird onto his back and grabbed a leg, startling back as her paw met something odd and loose. There was some shiny thing on Damask's leg that spun when she touched it, like a fancy, tarnished-gold manacle. She had never noticed it before. She tugged it off and slipped it onto her wrist, marvelling at its simple elegance. Hah! Now she was prettier than Eliza ever would be!

Turning around to show Tishka, Revel's smile fell into a frown as she caught the otter with a mawful of amaranth. He chewed happily, his eyes were still covered by her headscarf.

"C'mon," she said, taking hold of Damask's tail-feathers. The otter didn't move until she growled again, already some distance. Revel admired him. He had _excellent_ hearing.

Once inside the hut, it took a few minutes for Revel to adjust to the darkened interior. Straight ahead from the doorway was a simple stove and kitchen set. There was a small cot along the wall to her left, and an empty stone basin next to it. Farming tools of all shapes and sizes lined the wall opposite.

Leaving Damask in the middle of the straw-matted floor, she flopped down onto the cot. Despite its look, it was even more comfortable than her nest had been in the Fritterik's caves. She lie there for a few minutes, staring at the roof, letting her jaw and limbs recover.

"Rivvil? Rivvikvi?"

Tishka was still standing outside, waiting for her. Revel sighed and got up again to drag the otter inside. She sat him down against the wall. He curled up and soon dropped into slumber.

The day was quiet. The wind didn't reach into the hut very well, so Revel leaned in the doorway, holding her knife at the ready. There was no telling if they had been followed or not. She kept her ears perked for the sound of crunching in the field or sand around them. The amaranth was too tall to see the rest of the village over, and could easily hide anybeast approaching.

The stoat closed her eyes, letting her ears and nose take over. Her eyes hurt at first, as a tired muscle is wont to do during rest. But her face scrunched harder; she dropped the knife and held her stomach.

That felt... odd. Different. _Wrong_. Why wasn't the stupid bird waking up?

Shifting into a more comfortable position near the floor, her back gave a sudden pang. With a growl that was more a whimper, Revel leaned against the wall and tried to focus on the noises in the wind.


	59. When The Lights Go Up, You'll Understand

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 59. When the Lights Go Up, You'll Understand... **_  
by Eliza_

_Oh Hellgates, Hellgates, Hellgates, Hellgates... _

Eliza sprinted into the darkened tunnels, trying frantically to outrun the insanity. Swords were clanging, vermin were shouting, slaves were screaming…

The pine marten's paws slapped against the cold stone, their dull smack underscoring her shrill heartbeat.

_Get away._ She had to get _away_.

Darkness swallowed the light from the opening. Eliza dashed headlong into the gloom, trying to navigate by touch. The walls felt gritty and rough to her trembling touch, like solidified sand. Eliza smiled. There was something strangely reassuring in the solidity of it. Suddenly, the stone slipped away from her. The pine marten groped about, trying to get some bearings. Her paw groped about, finding nothing. She stepped forward, still feeling around. Her paw encountered something... soft. Something hairy. It snarled.

Eliza shrieked as an invisible form crashed into her, bulling her back against the wall. Claws encircled her throat, crushing her windpipe. She struggled, gurgling, trying to scramble away. The phantom refused to yield, pinning her to the hewn rock. With the last of her oxygen, the pine marten screamed, kicking blindly at the invisible marauder. It rasped an unintelligible curse, loosening its grasp ever so slightly. Hot breath hissed in her ear.

Claws bared, she struck for the source of the breath. She connected, gouging into warm flesh.

"'ellga'es!" snarled a disembodied voice.

Eliza took full advantage of the distraction. Kicking away from the wall, she caught the phantom off balance and wrested herself away, dropping to the floor. Eliza pushed off, bolting for the tunnel entrance.

Her assailant growled and gave chase, heavy footpaws thundering in the blackness behind her. The phantom assailant's breathing was ragged, labored.

Just as the first rays of sunlight kissed her face, Eliza's footpaw was snagged, tripping her. She gasped, trying to wrench it away. The figure wheezed another harsh curse.

"Marten! 's me!" The voice was faint and gravelly, but recognizeable.

Eliza's fog of fear and rage melted into one of hostile confusion. _"Captain?"_

"Aye."

Eliza recoiled as the fox dragged himself into the light. Matukhana's face was disgusting! The mutinous dormouse had slashed his lower jaw to the bone. Blood and saliva pooled on the edge of the fox's ravaged lip, dripping from a flap of shredded skin.

"Wha' you lookin' at, marten?" The corsair snarled. "Huh?"

Eliza gulped. "Your face. It's…"

Matukhana spat. "It's nothin'."

A wry grimace curled Eliza's lip.

"I said, it's nothin'," the Captain growled. "Faces don't get things done. I could be uglier'n you an' it wouldn't mean a whelk t'me."

Eliza's paws clenched. "What? How dare you!"

She still had the knife. It was tucked away, but it would take only an instant to draw it. She could grab it, plunge it to the hilt into his stupid malevolent face, finish the job the dormouse had started.

_What am I thinking? He's the Captain! He's the only one that can take me home!_

But, her better judgment countermanded, _will he? He's a brigand, a life-long vagabond and criminal. How can he ever be expected to keep his word?_

Her paw closed on the handle. "If you ever talk about my face again, I'll-"

Matukhana struck her, sending the knife clattering away into the darkness.

The pine marten gasped, clutching her cheek. He had slapped her!

"You'll do what? Attack me? Think y'can kill me, huh?" the brute growled. "I'm the Captain, you little wench! Without me, you're dead. Don't you forget that." Matukhana stabbed a claw at her. "An' if you ever even think of pullin' that little minnow-sticker agin, I'll carve off the rest of your face an' make ye eat it! Savvy?"

Eliza gulped, still holding her stinging face.

"Savvy?" the fox thundered.

"Yes," Eliza whispered. Her voice cracked slightly.

"Yes, _what_?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Good. Now, there's two things I need: a weapon, and somethin' t'wipe the blood offa me face. Get those for me, then you can run away an' hide like the cowardly little piece of flotsam ye are."

"Fine," Eliza glowered, protests burning in her throat. One humiliating slap, and now she had been cowed into running errands like a servant. _How pathetic._

No. It's not pathetic, she told herself, trudging angrily towards the light. _It's survival._

Fortuitously, some early casualties of the battle lay near the cave entrance. The pine marten glanced about furtively. The fighting appeared to have moved on, so she scrambled down to the bodies. A sword which hadn't been raised quickly enough to prevent a slashed throat lay in the sand. Eliza picked it up. The thing was rusted and unwieldy, but it was probably good enough for Matukhana.

_Right, now to find something resembling a bandage._

The sword's former owner had nothing but a tunic, which was heavily crusted with sand and blood. _Not going to touch that, thanks._ Eliza moved on to the next carcass.

This one had been one of Venril's group. The unfortunate beast's pack lay beside him, spilling its contents into the dust. Eliza fished a wrinkled bandanna from amidst the debris, grimacing down at the corpse. A cracked javelin protruded from the center of the ferret's green tunic.

Judging by a long bloody smear in the sand, this one had died slowly. His face was a contorted mask of agony.

There were more, at least a score of them. Some were savages, some were corsairs, some of them were slaves who had finally been set free. They were all different, and they were all the same, united in death.

Everybeast around her was dying: the party guests; the shipwreck victims; the slaves who'd fallen during the trek to the Oasis. More had fallen in the initial skirmishes, then the rockslides, and the freakish attack on the cave-dwellers.

They were the lucky ones, off in their respective Dark Forests. _She_ had to contend with the panic, the terror, the crushing weight of her own survival.

She was on her own. Her appointed protector was dead, according to Damask. Whether from his wounds from fighting that... that horrible thing, or cut down by some stupid parasitic woodlander, she didn't know. But he was gone, and Eliza was alone. _No more Slug-guard._

No - she corrected herself _- no more "Rath."_

Eliza smiled mirthlessly at the recollection. _Rath. What a silly name. I don't even know why I remember it. Funny. I've never remembered the names of any other servant._

That, said the voice in her head, _is because Rath wasn't really a servant. He died defending you. No servant, no matter how loyal, would ever do that. You should remember that sacrifice. You owe him that much._

She did. And she was... sorry. Sorry for getting him killed, sorry for insulting him and threatening him and treating him like a pet.

Sorry that she had never had the chance to thank him properly. He'd saved her life and had received in payment a hesitant hug and a lukewarm thank-you. She hadn't even said _goodbye._

She hadn't said goodbye to Damask, either.

The robin was dead, probably. At least, he'd looked awfully dead, crushed into a pathetic heap of feathers by the roiling waterfall. Her fault, probably, for shouting at him. _No,_ she decided. _Not my fault._

She hadn't thrown the slingstone, she hadn't caused him to fly into the cascade. She wasn't sorry for that; wasn't even sorry that he was dead, for that matter. She wasn't sorry for leading him on, because the robin had approached her first. Males, after all, were like bumblebees: droning little idiots who visit delicate flowers for a little while, and leave when they'd had their fill.

She had nothing to be sorry for. And, somehow, that was what made her sorry.

Clutching her spoils, Eliza headed back to the cave. She would give Matukhana his supplies, and then she would run and hide in the darkness, and then… What?

She didn't know. She didn't know what to do. There was no plan this time, no fantastic scheme to solve everything. There was simply her, lost and alone in the world, trying to keep from screaming.


	60. Army of One

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 60. An Army of One  
**_by Bellona_

_A recruit once asked me: "Why d'you keep fightin'?"  
I once lied to a recruit: "Only to protect creatures like you."_

_Duck. Step right, and feint. Slash left._ A hefty stoat clutched pitifully at his entrails as they oozed toward his footpaws.

_Spin. Grab my knife and th–_ "Ahgrr!" Bell's shout of pain morphed into a snarl as she dropped to the ground and kicked out, catching her assailant's legs. The weasel tumbled, throwing up sand. The dormouse hissed at the tiny grains grating into the new wound in her arm. He tried to regain his height advantage, but she wouldn't let him.

_Dirk into his paw. Bite his neck and kick back on his chest._ The warrior rose, spitting blood and fur from her mouth. She heard a few gurgles escaped from the hole in the weasel's throat, then they stopped.

"Pathetic." Bell started, then realized that the voice had been her own. _What'm I thinking?_ She moved to her next opponent, eyes roving the battle field for a tall, axe-wielding ferret. Did she _want_ a challenger who could match her? No. Arrogance and lust for battle were Sailpaw's vices, not hers. _I just want to keep the others safe._

She plunged her dirk into a rat trying to knock Birch's head off. The squirrel nodded her thanks briefly before turning away. Bell appreciated the gesture, but felt wholly unsatisfied. It was like watching a hated enemy fall, but not by your own paw.

The dormouse shook her head violently. This battle needed to end, or she would start getting more queer thoughts into her head. Queer thoughts that hadn't bothered her since Freyr had...

Oh, but the pounding of the blood in her veins and the frenzy of the creatures around matching her own screaming heart -- _that_ gave her satisfaction.

"Fall back!" The order rose above the din of battle and was repeated again by many harsh voices until all the vermin had turned to flee. "Fall back behind the palm stand!" The woodlanders cheered triumphantly, but Bell did not join them.

"Fall back!" she commanded in like. "Find cover and fall back!" She tried to ignore the fresh, burning cuts standing out on her arms and chest as she beat a hasty retreat toward some of the larger huts.

"Why're we'm hidin', missus?" a mole the dormouse did not recognize asked as he jogged beside her, a studded club held loosely in one great digging claw. "Sagaru said we'm wudd win this toime. Burr aye!"

_Sagaru said, huh?_ Bell found herself forming an impression of this Sagaru character and it wasn't the most flattering image. "Sagaru was right, if you listen to me. Now save your breath."

The woodlanders gathered behind the huts and Bell took a quick headcount. Giddy, Birch, Rugger, Baez, and a good number of the beasts she'd been trapped with in the caves appeared in good form, but there was one familiar face missing.

_Damask._ Whatever elation the victory had brought abruptly dissipated. "Damask. Where's Damask the Minstrel?" she asked.

"Think I saw him fly back toward the caves, Leftenant," Birch offered. "Huh! Bit more like 'yellow-bellied' than 'red-breasted' robin."

_Back to the caves?_ "Praise the Fates," she muttered, ignoring the slight to her comrade. If he had flown away to hide, he would be safe.

"What's all this about retreating?" One voice rose from the ranks of woodlanders. "Who ordered it?"

"That'd be me," Bell replied calmly without looking at the speaker. She peered around the side of a hut to glimpse the vermin nursing their wounds in the palm stand. There was no sign of Venril among them, though the puny stoat was easy to glance over. Come to think on it, she hadn't noticed him in thick of battle, either. Not taking sides until he knew the outcome? How very poisoner-like of him, the–

"And who are you?" The dormouse felt a tap on her shoulder and suppressed a wince. A particularly vicious rat had managed to clip her with his cudgel.

"Leftenant Bellona Littlebrush," she explained, bleeding all emotion from the statement. Obviously the beast addressing her was in a fine mood -- the tap had been demanding rather than curious.

"Please look at me, Leftenant." The pleasantry did nothing to mask the creature's displeasure. Bell sighed heavily.

"Giddy." She pointed a claw at the recruit who had a few wounds of his own, but whose ears stood erect with whiskers quivering. "Keep an eye on our friends. If any of them make a move, you know what to do."

"Yes, m'am!" The young hare saluted, then shifted his whole attention to the enemy.

_Good soldier._ Satisfied, Bell finally turned to confront the creature she knew had to be–

"Sagaru." A one-eyed mouse nodded curtly. "I can see you're a warrior, Leftenant, so why the retreat? Shouldn't we have pressed forward when we had the advantage?"

"M'am." Bell inclined her head, sizing up the creature before her swiftly -- not a warrior, but not a useless civilian, either. Sagaru had an air of fighting wisdom about her, though there was certainly room for improvement. The dormouse could not fault her for that -- she doubted these Oasis creatures had ever suffered anything like a prolonged war.

"Pressing forward would've been foolish given the circumstances. There're still a lot of those scum and they just ran to a place with a stock of large, hard ammunition. Matukhana, their captain, isn't an idiot. Coconuts're ungainly weapons, but get a strong creature to hurl one with enough force and you're looking at a 'slingstone' the size of your head."

"Oh." The mouse flicked her tail uncomfortably, stepping back from Bell and crossing her arms. "So, what now? I say we gather long range weapons and wait for them to try to launch an assault."

Bell's eyebrows shot up. Maybe Sagaru wasn't quite so foolish as she'd first thought. "Yes. Now, if there're any sort of javelins or bows around–"

"Leftenant, m'am!" Giddy interrupted. "It's tha' fox an' a couple o' beasties t'back him."

Bell and Sagaru both walked forward, but the dormouse beat her to the edge of the hut.

"Stop where you are, Captain!" Bell hollered.

"Parlay!" the marten, Eliza, declared as she and the others stopped. "We have a proposition that is altogether too kind for you despicably violent creatures."

"Giddy, Birch." Bell jerked her head toward the vermin entourage.

"Hold on a moment, I'm coming with you," Sagaru insisted.

"I don't think that's wise, m'am," Bell cautioned. "You're the leader of the Oasis. I don't want to put you in danger."

The mouse narrowed her eyes and stepped forward so that she was nose to nose with the dormouse. "As leader of the Oasis, I'm telling you: I'm coming, too."

_She's got spirit, at least._ "Birch, stay here and hold your ground," Bell commanded. "Make sure this lot doesn't try anything…rash."

"Aye." The squirrel's tail drooped, but she nodded dutifully.

~ = ~ = ~

At some point between the caves and the lull in the battle, Matukhana had managed to obtain a bandanna, now bloody, that was tied over half his face. It looked almost comical, and Bell didn't try terribly hard to hide her amusement.

"So…" She smirked. "Parlay, fox?"

"Aye, mouse," he growled, trying to speak moving only the right side of his face. That was most definitely comical. He glanced at Eliza and she continued.

"We want to offer your little band a deal," the marten grumbled like a dejected recruit performing a menial task. "We want to end this fighting nonsense. I want to go home, Captain Matukhana and his crew want to depart, and you little miscreants want us gone. Since we're all in agreement, give us timber from these huts…maybe a few paws to put to use, and we'll leave you in peace."

"A few paws you'll undoubtedly press into slavery the moment you get the chance," Sagaru chittered. "And our huts… Do you know how rare good driftwood is?"

"Can't imagine," Matukhana sneered, then winced.

"A moment." Bell raised a claw and stepped back to explain seriously, "This may be the best offer we'll get out of that one."

"It is," Eliza interjected.

The dormouse shot her a withering glare and spoke more softly. "I can bargain for how much he'll take, but–"

"Why are you leading negotiations, anyway?" Sagaru challenged.

"'Cause she's th'Leftenant," Giddy growled.

"Well, I'm the leader of those creatures," the mouse rejoined, stabbing a claw back at where the slaves and Oasis-dwellers hid, "and these lands and creatures are my responsibility. Forgive me, Leftenant, but I can't in good conscience let some stranger barter away our homes!"

"C'n I jist say, m'am," Giddy began, "Leftenant Li'dlebroosh has a relationship with Cap'n Matukhana, bri'dle stick though tha' relation may be, aye. It's fine sense t'have her as negootiatoor. I ken tha' foxer's jist a wee bit afraid o' her."

"I don't care," Sagaru pressed. "That fox murdered one of my best friends, cut out my eye, threw me out of my home, enslaved creatures I'm sworn to protect, and now you have the gall to dictate to me how we're going to deal with him? Who the sands do you think you are, Littlebrush? Sir Rolin Waneroar?"

_Rolin Who?_ Bell wondered, but didn't ask. "I'm trying," she began quietly, feeling her hackles rise, "to do what's best for everybeast. Continuing to fight won't help your creatures, Sagaru. It'll only end in bloodshed. Do you want more of those creatures you're responsible for to die?" She took no notice as her murmur crept toward a shout. "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch almost everybeast you've ever sworn to protect _die_ and not be able to do one bloody thing about it?" Puffing, the warrior finally noted her volume, and took a deep breath to calm herself, trying to ignore the leer Matukhana threw at her.

"I _do_ know," Bell concluded, back in control. "I don't want you to have to because of your pride or even righteous anger."

Sagaru glowered at Bell, then turned that ferocity toward Matukhana, then back again. Her jaw was set, but then her eyes dropped.

_Good soldier._

"All right," the mouse relented. "But _I_ get the final say in any deals."

"Of course, m'am." The dormouse nodded, then focused back on marten. For whatever reason, she'd been chosen as the mouthpiece. "How many huts'd it take to rebuild the ship?"

"Ten." No pause.

"You'll get seven. Use whatever wood's inside the cabins -- shelves, ladders, chairs, benches. You can repair your vessel fully when you make port. How many of you vermin're left?"

"Two score and a pawful more." A hint of hostility colored Eliza's next remark. "Not surprising after the slaughter you instigated."

"We'll send another score of woodlanders to assist, and two runners. If you try anything, the runners'll inform us and there'll be Hellgates to pay. That all right, Sagaru, m'am?"

"That the best you can do, Leftenant?" she wanted to know.

"The best to get them gone in a timely manner, m'am."

"Fine." She ignored the marten and stared at the wounded captain. "Do we have a deal, fox?"

"Aye, deal." Matukhana spat on his paw and held it out. Sagaru stared at him blankly, so Bell moved forward, spitting on her own paw and extending it. She matched captain grip for grip as they shook once and let go. He glanced at Eliza.

"We need a day to heal–" she began.

"Dinnae think all th'days in three seasons'd do a thin' t'heal tha' face o' yourn, lassie." Giddy snickered.

The marten balled her fists as if preparing to strike, but managed to restrain herself. Whatever else the insult had done, it replaced the sulk in her voice for haughtiness -- either way she was annoying. "How dare you, you buck-toothed ragamuffin! As if you could know anything about beauty, when you're surrounded by scar-faced baggage like _her_!" She jabbed a claw at Bell.

_That's a nice weakness to know,_ the dormouse thought with an inward smirk.

"Hmph! You've one day to pick out the work crew and the huts, then we'll be back!" Eliza turned with a sniff and stalked away. Matukhana and the other vermin were more self-aware, backing up instead of exposing themselves.

"Oi, Leftenant! One more thing." Bell's eyes flitted from the palm stand to the captain himself. They were five badger-lengths away from each other now with another two left before the safety of the palms and huts. "This is for my face!" He brought his paw down in a vicious slice. An arrow flew from the palms at the woodland trio. Bell lunged at Sagaru, shoving her to the ground, but the arrow hit its mark. Giddy thudded down next to them, his eyes misting over, and the shaft in his chest.

"L-Leften..ant?" he managed, then was gone.

"Attack!" Sagaru screamed, her face contorting in rage. "Attack that treacherous–"

"Stop!" the dormouse shouted her down, regaining her footpaws. "Stop, all of you!" The woodlanders who had jumped forward to avenge the hare's death and broken truce paused uncertainly.

"What are you doing?" the Oasis leader demanded. "He just killed your friend!"

"Yes." Bell gritted her teeth and directed a look of pure bile at Matukhana who waved merrily, then retreated. The marten caught the dormouse's eye as she performed a similar action, a malicious grin plastered across her ugly face. "It's personal -- between me and the fox. The truce, on the other paw, isn't."

"Are you saying you're going to just let him get away with it? Like you let him get away with what he did to me and the Oasis?" Sagaru's ears jutted forward aggressively.

"No, m'am." The warrior knelt beside the last recruit of Martin's Shadow, and gently closed Gideon Kildare's eyes. The mad grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm going to kill that split-faced scum slowly and painfully. _Ever_ so slowly and painfully…at the opportune moment."


	61. I'm Learning to Be Brave part II

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

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**Chapter 61. I'm Learning To Be Brave In My Beautiful Mistakes- part II  
**_by Revel_

_  
_Revel yawned.

Nothing was happening. Nothing had been happening for a while now. It was almost enough to make her wish nothing would stop happening.

Her stomach was at ease, for the time being. Every so often it would flare up again, tightening as though she had eaten too many coconuts again. Off and on and off again. She wished they would just hurry up and decide if they were there or not. It was to the point where she had decided she could handle one or the other, but this constant teasing was infuriating; she could not concentrate at all.

Was it possible to have _maybe_ baby stoats growing in her?

Tishka had woken up, and began to stumble about the place, knocking into the cot and various tools, until he finally tripped over Damask. Revel scooted over to the dazed otter and carefully took her headscarf back. Though he flinched and tried to cover his eyes, he soon adjusted to the light levels.

"Ribby sleep," he said, seeing Damask for the first time.

"Dunno," Revel said. "Might be dead."

She kicked Damask. To her surprise, the bird finally gave signs of life, fluttering a weak wing and groaning. She kicked him again, in hopes that would make his song start up properly.

"Grk," Damask said, opening an eye.

Revel came around to stand behind his head and leaned over, smiling at him upside-down.

"Wakey-wakey! I need a song." She patted her stomach. "Breakfast's been actin' up again."

As if on cue, it happened again. She gave a short bark of displeasure and sat down on the cot, wincing.

"W-what? No... can't sing..."

Revel pouted at this. Stupid bird, pretending to be in more pain than she was. "Chivvers! I don't want excuses. I want a song. Make it go away, like you do!"

The bird slumped back into unconsciousness. Revel waited until her stomach unclenched, then looked over at the wall of tools. Ah, there! A fine hoe, with a nice long blade. Taking it, she tested its weight for a moment.

"This'll do fine," she said quietly, tapping Damask's chest with the backside of the blade. The bird did not move. Revel growled and tapped harder. Damask coughed up a spurt of water, but nothing more. Fuming now, she took a good whack at his outstretched wing with the handle, but this only served to dent the tips of a few feathers.

This tirade greatly interested Tishka, who now stood beside Revel.

"Song?" he said hopefully.

"Ihn," Revel replied: no song.

Her stomach lurched again. Her blood thrummed. They were back, and she was angry. She didn't want them - they made her ugly! They made her so ugly that Venril ran away from her and had eyes only for Eliza, who wasn't even a stoat. It was so unfair, so terribly unfair!

And she could handle that, she could live with it, if only they just left her alone when she slept, if only they didn't steal her breath as they had stolen her body. If only the robin would sing them away, so they never existed, so she was never fat in the first place...

Revel spun around and swung the hoe into the wall of the hut, growling out her frustrations. It wasn't enough. She wanted to hit more things. She pulled the hoe out and hit the wall again, and then the cot, and the stone stove, and the floor, and Damask - no, not Damask, not the music; he was still alive. He was moving again, wakened by her fits. Yet she needed something, something soft and squishy and messy, something that would splurt like a coconut, to relieve her of it all.

So she hit Tishka, who was simply standing there, watching her as if it were all a game, with that stupid smile on his stupid woodlander face. The long flat of the blade cut deep into the young otter's chest - he fell with hardly more than a "gurk".

Revel tugged the hoe out, shook it off, and held it over Damask.

"Sing!" she hissed.

The robin had not been in position to see Tishka's fate, and was still woozy; all he saw was the bangle on Revel's wrist.

"Wait... that's mine..." A limp wing lifted to brush it.

"'s mine now, bird. An' I want a wicky song now!"

"No!" A final gurgle of water spilled from his beak, and he broke into a series of wheezing coughs. "Give it... 's for her. I'll... kill..."

"It makes me look pretty," Revel said, picking off some brown fur the bangle had collected and letting it fall away.

"No it doesn't!"

The stoat tilted her head and let the hoe fall away behind her.

"No? What d'you know. You're just a bird." She sniffed and turned away, even so. Unbidden tears crept around her eyes.

"No, it makes you look bloated and oafish! Now give it - " Damask coughed as the bangle landed on his chest. " - back."

Damask shuffled himself upright, picked the bangle up carefully with his beak, and slipped it back onto his leg. He caught sight of Tishka. For a long while, the hut was very quiet but for Revel's sniffling as she sat on the cot and rubbed her summer coat off her arms.

"I have a song," the robin said weakly.

"Oh! Good." Revel stood up, smiling again. "That's - "

She paused then, as if she, too, had just noticed Tishka's body. After a minute's thought, she selected a trowel from a hook on the wall and crouched in front of the otter. Damask's song began, warbling at first, but growing stronger with each line.

_Daughter of nature, left now here alone.  
No one for comfort, she is on her own.  
Still, see it glimmer, faintly it does shine,  
She holds it to her heart, this hope divine._

"Are you 'ungry, bird?" she asked quietly, sensing a pause in verse.

Damask's beak was open, but no sound came out.

"Well?"

"N-no."

The bird squeezed his eyes shut. Revel shrugged and turned back to the task at paw, using knife and trowel in conjunction to get to the good stuff.

It was sad. Tishka had been a nice woodlander. A Fritterik woodlander. Was there a word for that? She hadn't learned it.

But he was dead now, so there was no use crying over him, or letting him go to waste. Hadn't Rath wanted to try otter out with her? Then he'd gone and forgotten, and gotten lost in that cave. He'd joked about it, sometimes, during sessions with Venril, to make the sissy-skirt feel off-guard. Tishka had remained blissfully unaware of what Rath was talking about, but Revel had joined in with unrestrained glee over the prospect. But of course Baez had nosed in and disallowed any more of such talk, and sent Revel off to teach them how to fish...

"I don't remember tellin' you t'stop," she said, snapping her head around to glare at Damask.

The bird was staring at somebeast standing in the doorway.

"See ye got one," Greenfang said, nodding at Tishka's mostly-intact corpse. "Good fer ye, Crink. Very thorough. Gonna do th'bird next?"

"What d'you want?" Revel said, clenching her knife tight in one paw and reaching for the hoe again, idly wondering if maybe she should use the shovel instead.

"There's been a truce. Again." The weasel spat on the ground. "We're gonna tear down this hut fer ship's wood."

"A truce?" Damask said, eying the vermin hopefully; one wing raised to block Tishka from his side vision. "So, it's safe to go out again? Is every - ow!"

"This is my 'ut," Revel said, kicking Damask into silence. Her voice dropped dangerously low.

"It's a toolshed," Greenfang sneered. "Barely more'n a commode."

"You're not welcome 'ere, weasel. Or any of you," she added, pointing at the silhouettes waiting behind him. "This is - _my_ 'ut."

She gasped, dropping the hoe, leaned against the wall. _They_ were back again.

"Sing," she snarled, kicking dirt at Damask - but even as far as snarls went, it was more of a plea. The robin hopped out of range, keeping an eye on the vermin blocking the doorway.

Greenfang looked nervous.

"Yer not... not sick, are ye, Crink? Jiltsnout - she look sick t'ye?"

"Hard t'say," the rat said. "Maybe. 'Ey, isn't she that stoat, Greeny? Th'one th'Whirlwind was allus with?"

"Yeh."

The rat shouldered past Greenfang into the hut. Revel growled, baring her teeth, but didn't move from the wall. Jiltsnout placed something on the ground; a bundle of folded cloth. It smelled weird. There was blood all over it, different blood than Tishka's, and that strange dizzying smell that had accompanied Keane - that was it! It smelled like Keane, and a little like Rath, too. More like Rath than Keane.

And... gone again. She breathed.

"His coat," Damask said derisively, kicking the bundle open. "How lovely."

"Rath's coat?" Revel said, looking up at Greenfang. The weasel shrugged.

"None o' my concern."

"It was my idea," Jiltsnout said, puffing out his chest. "I thort, 'Well, th'Whirlwind's dead, an' so who gets 'is coat?' It don't fit barely anybeast, but Nivard sed 'e don't want it. So I goes, 'Well, wot about that stoat allus with him? Bein' 'is friend an' all.' So I guess it belongs t'ye now. Though," the rat added, grinning hugely, "we did empty th'pockets first. Ohoho."

Revel was quiet.

"Don't tell me," Damask said, glancing up at her. "You thought highly of the brute as well?"

"Get out," Revel said, turning away. It didn't need to be loud. Jiltsnout vanished before Greenfang could even straighten up, and the weasel stumped after him, muttering something unintelligible about the hut's wood.

Damask crept towards the doorway, watching Revel as if waiting for her permission. She did not look at him.

"Th'Whirlwind is dead?" Revel said, raising her head to stare at the wall in front of her. "Rath is - is dead?"

"Yes."

There was no further movement or talk from the stoat. Damask took his leave, without reprisal.

Hopping back to the rest of the village, his feathers ruffled in a shiver as a long, low scream sheared through the still desert air. It was followed by a cacophony of clattering, and unworldly thumping and thudding as the hut's roof practically shook itself off. It was still happening by the time Damask had hopped out of ear-shot.

It did not stop for some time.


	62. With My Freeze Ray I Will STOP the World

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 62. With My Freeze Ray I Will STOP the World..  
**_by Venril__  
_

Venril had paused just long enough to watch Bellona mutilate Captain Matukhana's face before being jolted into action. The stoat didn't feel much sympathy for the treacherous fox. He had been shocked when Matukhana had decided to repay their subterranean hosts with slavery, and as much as he had protested to Matukhana over the decision, he had felt like an absolute coward for not having actually done anything while the corsairs had rounded up the confused, scared Fritterik. Now, though, his truce with Bellona was giving him a chance to rectify that.

As things descended into chaos all around him, Venril dashed away from Bellona and Matukhana, sprinting towards the other side of cave where the scared, confused Fritterik were trying to press themselves into the rocky walls, some of them covering their ears or their eyes, trying to block out the sudden jumble of frightening sights and loud noises.

Venril hadn't gotten far, however, when he was forced to stop, panting as he ducked behind a rock for cover. He just couldn't run like this. The chainmail was too heavy. He had never really had to run in it before. When he had pursued the escaped captives into the caves he had just been jogging, really, confident that they were heading towards a dead end and he could catch them eventually. The mail had been tolerable then, but not while sprinting full out across long distances. The stoat made up his mind and began pulling the heavy protective garment off of himself. Feeling much lighter but also much more vulnerable, the stoat kept running, dodging and weaving to avoid the combatants.

Venril finally reached the Fritterik and ducked down behind a stalagmite, feeling a little pang he hadn't expected at the sight of two forlorn looking ferret kits holding each other so tightly it looked like they were trying to meld into one beast, crying and whimpering. His resolve hardened, and any residual hesitation he might have had vanished as he saw that both of the remaining vermin guarding the Fritterik slaves were corsairs.

The rat and the weasel were both hardened wavevermin. There would be no heroics today for these two. They were crouching behind two boulders, having pushed the Fritterik away, and were now menacing the cowed beasts with their cutlasses. Several of the Fritterik had slashes or cuts on their arms, and one unfortunate ferret was dead from a stab to the chest, having either tried to escape or tried to take the cover the corsairs wanted for themselves. A little lump of anger welled up in Venril's chest.

_I could take them,_ a voice in the stoat's head boased. _Come on, a rat and weasel with rusty weapons and no uniforms. They're not even looking at you. You could rush them and take their heads off before they knew what was going on._

_Yeah right,_ a more sensible part of Venril's consciousness interjected. _How do you think they got all those scars and lived to tell the tale? They've probably been fighting real battles since Rhodor and those two weasel twins you could never tell apart were punching you in the stomach and taking your scones before tossing you in Swiftflower Creek_.

A stray arrow slammed into the chest of a Fritterik fox, who fell screaming, and Venril made up his mind. Beasts were dying around him, and this was no time to be proving a point. He would do what he always did when confronted with someone he couldn't fight: He would cheat.

Checking to make sure there were no other threats, Venril dashed to the position where the rat was huddling. Venril had noticed that the rodent had a bow as well as a cutlass, and that had given him an idea.

"Hey! I found this little outcropping closer to the top. Follow me, and I'll take you there. It's right next to the entrance, and there's lots of cover. You can sit up there and snipe some of the woodlanders down if they try to  
leave."

The rat just sneered at him. "Whatcha want me ter do that for? I'll stay right here, an'—"

"Did I mention that Matukhana's giving a triple grog ration for the whole season to anyone who can kill that dormouse?" Venril didn't know what grog was, but the corsairs seemed to love it.

The rat still didn't look completely persuaded, so Venril shrugged. "Fine. I just hope Matukhana didn't really care about killing her."

The rat sighed. "Arright arright." He turned to his companion. "Grimeclaw, I'm gonna try'n bag me some dormouse. 'Old things down 'ere."

Venril lead the rat just out of sight of Grimeclaw, pausing behind another large boulder. The rat with the bow peered out around the boulder.

"I don' see n—gaack!" The rat had made the fatal error of exposing his back to Venril for a moment, and the stoat had seized the chance, plunging his dagger into the rodent's back. The rodent tried to move, so Venril rolled him over and slashed him across the throat. The mustelid had not expected this to result in a spray of warm, sticky blood splattering across the top of his tunic and his neck, and he gave a little yelp of shock.

"Stupid rat, you ruined my tunic!" Venril gave the rodent a kick for good measure, then began dragging the searat back to the Fritterik. When he got there, Grimeclaw ran up to them.

"Blimey, wot 'appened to ye, matey?"

The rat was, surprisingly, still alive, struggling to breath, trying to form words with his gurgly, wet rasp. The weasel leaned in closer to him to try to understand him him, and Venril grabbed his head and slammed it into the rock next to them.

The effect of this surprise attack was not quite what he had hoped. The corsair was not knocked out, or even stunned. All that resulted was a pained expression, followed by a snarl, and then the weasel tackled Venril to the ground, raising his cutlass. He was about to bring it down on the stoat's skull when suddenly a pair of Fritterik, bolder than their peers, grabbed both of his arms and hauled him off of Venril. The stoat wasted no time in whipping out his own sword and jamming into into Grimeclaw's chest.

"Prakvi savesave Fritterik!" Venril heard a familiar voice as Mripat bounded up to him. The Fritterik all turned to look at the stoat. Venril felt just a little bit of a glow at the fact that, for the first time, there were beasts who were really, truly glad to see them, who honestly thought he could help them. The stoat's grip on his saber tightened. He would not let them down.

The mob of newly freed beasts began to run around the outskirts of the battle, which by now had spilled out into the Oasis proper from the waterfall cave entrance. Venril chanced a look back at the fighters, disappointed that he hadn't been able to find Liza or Rath. Liza would have probably tried to hide, but Rath was sure to be in the thick of things

_I hope he's okay…wait, what am I worrying about? He's Rath! Of course he'll be okay._ The ferret was one of those beasts who just seemed like he should live forever.

The Fritterik moved deeper into the caverns, entering an area Venril hadn't seen before during his time there, a wide, open cave with a very high ceiling, ringed by torches. The Fritterik stopped to rest and lick their wounds, in some cases literally.

What seemed like a little more than an hour later, Venril started at a sound near the entrance, but it was just the one eyed hedgehog, Baez, entering with few straggler Fritterik.

"Where did you come from?" Venril asked. "Were there more Fritterik? I didn't think there were, but maybe I missed some."

"I took the other Fritterik outside thy safekeeping and escaped when the fighting stopped. There was some sort of truce being discussed, but I'm afraid I didn't hear what it was."

"Who was talking? Matukhana and Leftenant Know-it-All?"

"I believe it was Matukhana and Bellona, yes." The hedgehog gave a knowing smile. "She can be hot-blooded, that one, but I believe she is also basically honorable. Perhaps thy regard of her ought to be higher."

Venril shrugged. "Well, at the very least, she kept them distracted long enough for me to rescue the Fritterik."

"It would seemst that thy instruction in the arts of combat have served thee well." Baez's face went rigid for a moment, and he seemed to have trouble speaking. "I…I did not expect to ever see most of…it is good that thou didst retrieve them." The moment passed.

"Is there a place where they can hide from the corsairs without the Srechrrl attacking them?" Venril asked.

"I believe there are, but I will ask them."

"Good. Take them there for right now. I'm going to take a few of them up and keep watch for anybeast else."

"A sensible plan, but I would caution thee, they are not warriors."

"I know, but if it's a lone scout or something they can at least help grab him or something. Not to mention that I'm not sure I want to meet with Bellona completely alone." The stoat pointed at the two stoat Fritterik who had grabbed Grimeclaw earlier, as well as Mripat, then gestured at them to follow him.

"I doubt she would attack thee without cause," Baez said.

Venril didn't feel completely convinced, but didn't feel like getting into an argument about Bellona. "Uhh, sure, I guess." Actually, he thought this was far from an outlandish concern. The dormouse was a bit of a fanatic, and if it came down to honoring a truce or getting what she felt was best for her beasts, he was pretty sure Bellona wouldn't feel much hesitation to backstab him.

Baez smiled at him again. "I thank thee for bringing them back, Captain Venril."

Venril and his Fritterik companions had been hiding in the rocky outcroppings near the tunnel for what seemed like some time when Bellona approached his position, along with a one eyed mouse accompanied by several woodlanders. Venril ducked back down behind the outcropping before yelling. "Bellona, is that you?"

An arrow whistled over Venril's head, but only one, and it was quickly followed by the sound of harsh whispering, probably from the one eyed mouse. Venril peaked up over the rock again. "Can I come out and talk to you now, or do you need to shoot a few more arrows and get it out of your system?"

"That was hardly an irrational response to your behavior, stoat," Bellona replied sarcastically. "Didn't that ferret ever teach you not to startle beasts who're carrying weapons? You could've been an enemy."

The stoat stood up indignantly. "If I were someone who wanted to attack you, I wouldn't have yelled 'Bellona, is that you?' before chucking a spear at you. What happened during the attack?"

"We fought, and you ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction." The dormouse gave his now unarmored torso a disapproving glance. "And apparently threw your armor away so you could run even faster."

Venril spluttered. "Hey! Stop making it sound so cowardly! I was rescuing the Fritterik!"

"Yes, a task that, conveniently enough, involved leaving everybeast else to face battle while you skulked in a cave," Bellona said coolly.

Sagaru cleared her throat, and Bellona turned to look at the other rodent for a moment. "Apologies, m'am. Venril, this is Sagaru. She's the leader of the woodlanders who used to live in the Oasis before you vermin kicked them out. Sagaru, this is Venril. Some baron decided to make him captain one day, for no apparent reason."

"It wasn't for no reason!" Venril practically shouted. "He thought…uh…" The stoat wished he had thought out his answer ahead of time. "Well, I'm sure he had some reason for it!"

"Of course he did, Venril. Whatever you say." The note of condescension in Bellona's voice made him want to punch the dormouse.

_Yeah, right. She could beat you up without breaking a sweat._ Venril thought to himself. "Are you done acting like a kit, or do you want to argue with me some more instead of getting anything done?" the stoat asked as maturely as he could.

"What're you blaming me for? You're the one who keeps contradicting me. Quit it!" Bellona snapped.

"You quit it!"

"It's not my fault you can't—"

"IF YOU PLEASE!" Both Bellona and Venril stopped talking as Sagaru begin to speak. "I am Sagaru, the Heir of Loamhedge, and the ruler of the woodlanders who used to inhabit the Oasis. Bellona tells me that you rescued the vermin who dwell in the caves from slavery. Am I to take it, then, that you wish to fight against Captain Matukhana as well, on behalf of the cavedwellers?"

Venril had been wondering about this himself, and had had plenty of time to think about what he wanted out of the situation while sitting in the rocks waiting for Bellona. "No, not really. I don't care about the Oasis or whatever treasure that stupid robin probably made up. I just want for everything to go back to how it was. I'll take what's left of my hordebeasts and camp out here for a while with the Fritterik. You won't have to fight them, and they won't have to fight you. I'll bring Rath and Eliza back here too. Then, all you have to deal with is Matukhana and the corsairs."

Sagaru nodded. "Hmm. I suppose that would be an expedient way of thinning their numbers without risk to ourselves…but what would you do afterwards?"

"Well, there were only about 25 of us to begin with from the horde, and some of us have died since then. We're not trying to be corsairs, so we don't need a whole big ship. All we would need to do is build a small little boat or raft, sail it down the coast and go home. We could do that ourselves, there wouldn't have to be any slaves or forced labor." Venril was pretty sure a few of his hordebeasts had once been corsairs, and even if they hadn't, they really just had to sail or row up the coast in a straight line until they got away from the desert. If they couldn't figure out how to get all the way home, they could just ditch their boat when they found a port or an area that looked hospitable and then treck overland the rest of the way.

Bellona raised an eyebrow. "Quite expedient. We wouldn't even need to bother with that fox's sham of a truce. We can put paid to him and his before he gets any clever ideas. But then...why trust you, stoat? You could hide in these caves, then attack us from behind when we're busy with Matukhana."

"Why would I do that? Then I'd just have to fight both of you at once. Matukhana's the only one trying to hurt the Fritterik or force my hordebeasts to stay here. I just want to make sure the Fritterik are safe and then go home."

Bellona snorted, unconvinced. "A wasp in waiting has nothing to fear from his queen. For all we know, you're in that fox's paw, preparing a pincer move."

"Well, thank you for thinking me so devious and clever." Venril rolled his eyes. "But I just want to protect the Fritterik and leave here. What do I need to convince you? A contract signed in blood?"

The dormouse opened her mouth as if to shout 'yes', but then shut it. She glanced at Sagaru and the other woodlanders, then sighed. "No. Fine. Just see to it you keep up your end of the deal and we'll have no quarrel." Her glared added: 'for now'. "When're you going to go get them, assuming they even listen to you anymore?"

"Matukhana likes to send my hordebeasts out as scouts because they don't complain about it like the corsairs do. I could meet one of the scout parties and talk to them then. I don't think they like Matukhana that much anymore. Especially if leaving him meant they could go home."

The stoat looked up at the sky, trying to gauge what time it was. "As for getting Rath and Liza, I think I might just go back and get them tonight."

~~  
Venril prided himself on knowing a bit more about the moon than most beasts did. Keeping track of the lunar cycle was a handy way of recording events over long periods of time, which made Venril probably the only beast in Baron Proklyan's horde who knew a waxing gibbous from a waning crescent. Although he had become a bit disoriented during his time underground, the stoat had predicted based on what he could remember that the moon would probably be a waxing crescent, just short of a half moon, meaning that while he had enough light to see with he would not be lit up as an attractive target to any sentries.

The stoat reached the palm grove where the vermin were camping, and began poking his head into the tents and lean-tos to check them, looking for Rath or Liza. He wasn't absolutely certain that the corsairs would kill him on sight. Although he had killed two of their number, he had no reason to believe that any of them had seen him do this, and they might well have either ignored his absence or else assumed he was captured or had gotten lost. Or even run off and hid. That said, however, he didn't really want to have to explain his absence right now. He had just stepped into what appeared to be an unremarkable cluster of palm and coconut trees, when suddenly he heard a voice.

"Venril? Is that you?" The stoat froze at the sound of his name, and then his eyes widened as he recognized the voice. He turned around, paw on his saber's handle.

"Yes, and I'm really not in the mood for you to try to stab me again. I'm here to rescue Liza."

"My maiden is in peril?" Damask looked shocked, or at least like what Venril thought a shocked bird would look like.

"Yes. Captain Matukhana is holding her hostage. She was a slave once herself, so the the only reason she would have gone along with enslaving the Fritterik is if he forced her to. I'm going to free her and bring her back with the Fritterik. You can come too, assuming you don't stab me in the back the moment I'm not looking."

The robin hopped across the sand towards him. "Do you think me a churl who would place our mutual grievance before the safety of my beloved?"

Venril rolled his eyes. "Damask…I'm not sure how else to put this, but…you're a bird. She's a marten…don't you think that might be a problem?"

"Though you may think us starcrossed, I assure you that the bonds between us transcend such mundane fetters. I notice that you yourself seem not to be dissuaded by species."

"Yes, but I'm a stoat! That's pretty close to a marten. You have feathers and a beak and…and…"The stoat shook his head. "What would a bird and a marten even...even _do_."

Damask puffed up his red-feathered chest in indignation. "I am not of so base a mind as to—"

Venril hurriedly raised his paws in a calming motion, conscious of the risk that Damask might wake somebeast up. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry! Can we forget about that for right now? If we wake up anybeast else, we won't be able to rescue Liza." The robin immediately piped down. "Good. Now help me look. If you find Liza, whistle a few quiet notes and I'll come over."

The two males split up and began their search. It took a long time, but finally Venril found Liza, under guard by two corsairs.

"You two! You're on sentry duty! I'm taking over the watch here." Venril snapped.

"Are you su--"

"Are you questioning my orders, scumsnout?" Venril snarled. "Get out of here before I--" The stoat followed up with a number of choice phrases he had heard the other captains use. The two corsairs hurried off obediently, sufficiently cowed by Venril's show of authority.

"Liza, I'm here to save you from Matukhana."

The marteness threw herself into Venril's arms. "Oh, Captain Venril, I knew you would come and help me, just like you always do."

Damask suddenly showed up, hopping towards them. "My glorious maiden, I--"

"Quiet, you! Liza scowled over Venril's shoulder. "You were here the whole time and never tried to save me, just like you never did anything about Verand or my dress! Get out of here, and stop calling me your maiden, because I'm not!"

The robin flew off, crying softly.

Liza turned back towards Venril, pressing in even closer to the stoat. "How will I _ever_ thank you, Captain Ven--"

Venril started as he suddenly heard Damask sing a short, quiet but clear song to indicate he had found Liza, and cursed himself for daydreaming instead of finding her first. He also cursed Damask for interrupting his thoughts. _Just getting to good part, too._ The stoat ambled over to locate the robin.

To his surprise, he found that Liza did not appear to be under any kind of guard at all. She was sitting alone next to a fire.

"Venril, what are you doing here?" The marteness looked a bit confused and angry.

"I'm here to save you from Matukhana." The stoat puffed his narrow chest out just a little bit.

"We came to save you from Matukhana," Damask clarified, fluttering out of the darkness.

Eliza's eyes widened. "Damask? You're alive?"

"I am, my lady. And..." the bird paused, eyes downcast, "still your devoted servant. We learned of your predicament, and now seek to save you from that foul fox's depraved grasp!"

For some reason, Liza looked only confused at this, rather than being jubilant. "Well, umm, you see…"

Before she could finish her sentence, Venril suddenly thought of the other creature he wanted to find. "Oh! Where's Rath! I wanted to bring him back to the caves with me too!"

Suddenly Liza looked very somber, and the look on her face made Venril's heart sink. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"Venril…Rath didn't make it."

Venril couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't believe it for a moment.

"Rath's dead?" The stoat sank to his haunches, a devastated expression on his face. Rath had taught him so much in the time they had been together, and as much as he'd prodded and provoked and poked fun of the stoat, he had never stopped teaching him. Nobeast else had ever taken an interest in him like that, had ever tried to help him just to be helpful. Rath had given him the confidence to save the Fritterik, to kill Verand…

Rath had been his friend.

Liza walked over next to him. "Venril…I'm sorry."

Almost before he knew what he was doing, Venril had stood up and hugged Liza tightly, not wanting to let go, wondering if she might be the next entry on the ever growing list of casualties.

_Rath was my friend…and now he's gone._

If the Whirlwind could die, could any of the rest of them survive?


	63. I Gave You the Best of My Love

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 63. I Gave You the Best of My Love  
**_  
by Damask__  
_

_Was it just a fantasy?_ Damask could feel a tremor start as the stoat's arms went around his maiden.

_Yes,_ whispered Softleaves.

_But... if she ever cared--_

_No._

_What do I do?_ Damask felt a cold dread spreading from the pit of his stomach, paralyzing him and forcing him to remain gazing upon the embrace. This chill sucked the color, the life, and even the music from the world itself.

_Just let me take care of everything._

The bird shook his head violently as a buzzing began in his ears. He emitted a soft squawk as pressure began to build behind his eyes -- a stabbing, drilling, lobotomizing pain.

"Damask?" The voice that pierced his internal dialogue was slightly nasal. It grated on his ears, and caused the pain to flare up. It was feminine.

"No!" The bird covered his face with his wings and began to shake. "I'm not ready! Not finished!"

A sharp cry emerged from the bird's throat and he took to wing, his eyes whirling wildly.

From behind him came a second call, "Damask? Curses. Venril, I'll be right back."

--------

The robin landed a lengthy distance from the pair -- on foot. He clutched his head again, whimpering at the tumult that was overcoming his senses.

A voice emerged from his beak -- Softleaves's. "This foolishness has gone on long enough!"

"Still, I believe that she is true, and I will not give in to you!"

"Open your eyes, bird! She's been hanging off of every other male. She doesn't want or need you -- and neither do I!"

"You failed your life, a life of shame -- You sullied both of our good names. You gave up song for but a coin --"

"Our good names? Who are you?" Softleaves-Damask demanded.

"You know I am your oldest dreams: to make the world be better than it seems. You spy and hide and hate the 'cruel world'. I sally forth and actually do good."

The bird's beak closed as Softleaves fell silent. _All right. But you know well as I do that she's lying to you._

Damask nodded, "I know. But you remember that feeling, don't you? When you showed her to me, I could tell."

_I remember. And I understand. But you know what we have to do._

Damask fell silent again, listening to the sounds of the desert around him. "I want to talk to Bellona first. She deserves to know why."

_And then find Eliza and say goodbye._

"Goodbye..."

The bird went aloft again, that word echoing in his ears.

-----------

When Damask landed, he saw Bellona conferring with a group of beasts he didn't recognize, so the minstrel stayed back a ways. His claws dug into the sand as he fidgeted in place.

_What do I say?_ the bird thought to himself.

_You know what you have to do,_ Softleaves replied. _This has gotten too big for one little bird: wars, death, cave savages, deceit -- we_ have _to go, now. And let's not forget her._

_But Bellona won't understand all that? How will I--_

_You have to hurt her. Make her not care._

"Damask!" The bird winced as the voice interrupted him. Without looking he knew what her expression would be. He let his eyes drift to the dormouse -- relief on her features and a smile. "Damask, I thought you-- I'm glad you're safe."

"Err... Bellona," the bird's voice was low as he replied, "can we talk?"

The smile vanished. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Damask was silent for a long moment, his fidgeting growing.

_Do it!_

"I have to go!" he blurted out. His chest tightened as he locked eyes with Bellona. He could see a multitude of expressions fighting their way across her face: eyes widened, brows knitted then upturned, an open mouth to a frown to a set jaw. "What?"

"I can't stay here." The bird felt a flush rising to his cheeks. "Eliza doesn't care for me, and without --"

"Eliza." Bellona spat the name as if it would sully her mouth with its presence. "Don't be an idiot, Damask."

"I love her!" The bird's voice came out as an indignant squeak. He shook his head a moment to regain control. "Or loved her. Fates, I don't know, but it doesn't matter, now."

"She's a _vermin_, Damask."

He felt himself rising to her bait, his feathers ruffling. "And that's all that matters, aye? I didn't expect you to understand, and I'm not asking you to."

"You're just running, then?"

"Life isn't always a fight, Bells." The bird reached out a wingtip to her shoulder.

She shrugged it off and turned her back. Damask had to strain to hear as she spoke to the horizon, "I suppose it is best this way. I mean you're hurt and not much good in a fight, anyway. You're not much use in caves or a desert, and a spy without a--"

The mouse's voice caught in her throat as a feathered canopy enveloped her from behind. Damask leaned his head down and whispered to her, "I wouldn't have stayed for fighting. Comrade."

He felt the mouse relax under his wings, leaning her weight back onto his chest. He heard her murmur, "Why d'you have to sound like..."

"I'm sorry, Bells." The bird added pressure to the embrace, holding her tight. "You are a dear friend -- something I've not had for a long time. But, I have to go."

She nodded, keeping still and silent. _I've never seen her like this. She's so... small._

Damask relinquished the embrace, taking a step back and allowing her to turn. She kept her face turned, however, her gaze from his. "All right, Damask..."

"Bells..." He turned her chin with a wing, forcing her to face him. "I hope I can see you again, someday. Smiling."

He didn't wait for a reply, but took to the sky again, leaving the mouse behind.

_Now, don't look back..._

-------

_And now, for the worst..._

Softleaves added, _But the most important. You have to--_

"I know." Damask was startled that he had answered aloud, but shook his head once before continuing, "It's just... I've never been on this side of it."

_There she is._ Softleaves was silent before adding, _Try to be nice, though, there she is._

"Miss Eliza!" Damask called, wheeling around to land in front of her, "I wanted to --"

"I was searching for you."

"Er..."

The marten looked down at her paws -- pointedly. "On foot."

"Well, I --"

"In the desert."

"I'm sorry, Miss Eliza, I just didn't --"

"What did you fly off for, anyway? I told you there's nothing going on. _He_ hugged _me_."

The bird only nodded, while Softleaves's mocking tone echoed in his mind, _When I said nice, I didn't mean groveling._

"Well?"

"I'm leaving, Eliza." The bird's tone was as gentle as he could manage. He kept his eyes on the marten, trying to gauge a reaction.

She was silent for a beat. "You're leaving."

"Yes."

She shook her head once and took a seat on a nearby rock, crossing her arms and frowning at the bird, "No, Damask, you're not. That's just stupid."

The bird lowered himself to haunches to be at her level. "Eliza," he began, "We both know there's no reason for me to stay."

"Of course there is! Who's going to... I'll need somebeast to..." The marten's voice trailed off after the second thought. She ended lamely, "You never needed a reason before."

"I had a reason," the bird countered. "The game was enough -- that giddy, foolish feeling that when it strikes, drives everything from your mind."

She was silent, staring past the bird.

"Eliza... a part of me always knew you didn't care for me."

"But, I did care about you!"

"Look me in the eyes, Eliza. Hold my gaze and tell me you love me." Damask saw a slight twitch on one of her eyelids; it elicited a small smile from the bird, "See. Your eyes always told me the truth. That smile, those words weren't much of a disguise, my lady."

The marten narrowed her eyes. "How dare you."

"I'm sorry, madame." The bird rose to his feet and dipped a low bow to her, "But if there's nothing else, I should be taking my leave."

He cleared his throat, then, and gave her a final poem:

"My dear, your smiles and your kiss --  
Are memories that ever shall endure  
So know that ev'ry moment you are missed.  
For never shall my heart be healed of her."

As he turned, her voice rang out, "That's it, then? Throw out a poem and fly off into the evening?"

Her words halted his progress and he turned back. He reached down with his beak and removed the bangle from about his leg. With a flick, he tossed it to Eliza. "I won that many a season ago. I was saving it for a love that never came home." He paused, shaking his head at the memory. "I wanted to give it to some lady that I loved -- to show that my everything: my heart, my love, and even my song was hers."

He leaned down, brushing a wing tip along her scarred face. The movement made her shudder. "Yours. A beauty to hopefully match yours."

Damask turned then, leaving the jill staring at the offering at her feet. He said, simply, "I love you, Eliza."

The bird pushed off hard, taking to the air. As the wind coursed through his feathers, Damask forced his eyes to rest on the horizon.

_I'll find my love._

end of week five.


	64. Mi Corazon Perdido en Ti

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start of week six. 

**Chapter 64. Mi Corazon Perdido en Ti  
**_  
by Bellona _

_Your first look crossed the desert  
Into my soul."_

Bell stared after the speck in the dark sky long after she knew it was impossible to distinguish it among the canopy of scattered lights and empty space. She stood for hours as those lights pirouetted slowly above her head, never stopping -- like a warrior going through her warm-up exercises; the movements so ingrained she did not have to think from one to the next, and so she did not pause. A few of the woodlanders still awake passed by, some asking questions, other just staring. The dormouse merely grunted and they all moved on.

_Damask._

The horizon had begun to brighten when Bell felt a peculiar shudder travel through her body. She jerked, and then clutched at her throat, feeling it tighten, followed by her chest. It came again and her nose began to clog as she stumbled hurriedly into a nearby hut.

The dormouse gasped as she slammed the door shut, and then they started: tears. Not terrified, angry, wretched tears that burned her cheeks with shame, but thick, heartsick, powerful tears that wracked her body and reminded her just how much it had hurt with Freyr.

_He's gone._ Not dead, but gone to find a better world where battle and backstabbing and 'beautiful' maids with despicable souls weren't everyday occurrences. Damask was safe, then. _Safe?_ Bell wondered, incredulous. She tried to hold back a sob and found it hurt more than letting it out. _In a desert filled with mythical diseases and sandstorms and lizards and vermin and Fates know what else? I should've gone with him!_

It occurred to Bell then, as she cried, slamming a fist into the side of the hut that any creatures outside and listening must think she had lost her mind.

_I can't have gone._ The tears were letting up a little. She could think more clearly, more logically, more like a soldier should. _These creatures and the Oasis need me._ Northern Mossflower needed her, too. What had happened there? _Everybeast in my platoon is dead. I can't go back without something to show for it._

_Brimming with excuses, Littlebrush?_ The dormouse heaved a sigh and rubbed at the tracks that had formed down her face. _Everybeast needs somebeast. A commander needs soldiers, a minstrel his audience, a wife her husband, and a friend... These creatures need me. Damask needs somebeast else. Somebeast I can never be._

A fresh wave of emotion hit her, but it was easier to hold back the pain this time. Damask had gone, had left her because she was less important than a stupid vermin wench. If she had just known earlier, she could have ended his ridiculous infatuation with that strum–

_I sound like Sailpaw._ Who was Bellona Littlebrush to talk about 'proper' lovers? _But Freyr wasn't evil or a vermin!_ She bit her lip so hard it bled, the metallic tang of blood so much like the iron of her blade. _Why did he have to be...? Freyr was -- but Damask!_

"Curse you, bird," she whispered, choking back a moan. "Why'd you have to be like him?" And yet, Damask was nothing like Freyr, because he would not have left her, would not have loved somebeast more -- especially not a maleficent marten.

_That's the difference between a lover and a friend, Bells,_ Freyr's voice murmured.

That was what it came down to, then. Damask was her comrade, her friend, and she had never wanted him as a husband. It had been nice, though, to pretend that for one shining moment her lover had reached across the grave to touch her again. And because of that, she'd been able to find the will to fight again. Certainly, she'd always wanted to protect 'the others', but Damask had been Damask -- a friend and confidant to smile and die for, not just live for.

"And I'll have that again," Bell consoled herself, breathing deeply and wiping the last of the tears away. _He's not dead and I'll find him again._ In the meanwhile, there were creatures who needed her guidance and a fox to send to Hellgates.

She stood firmly and walked to the door of the hut, then stopped.

It was funny to think, looking back, that everything had begun because of the robin. Damascinous Argevian the Minstrel had delighted the creatures of Martin's Shadow with his songs and poems when he had flown by their camp one day. He had annoyed the dormouse then with his antics, but she watched his shows and threw in a few trinkets as he came more and more frequently. She even began looking forward to his visits, though she never let on, except for one day when he had finished his act, and she had approached:

_"Tell me, Sir Robin," Bell began, "do you play only to woodland audiences?"_

"My dear lady," the puffed up popinjay scoffed, "I play to all who enjoy entertainment!"

"Interesting."

Then came the request for his services as a spy. She began to know him better as she prepared him, explaining what information they wanted, and in that time, he had impressed her with his quick wit and affable humor.

But on his first mission, Damask had failed, had let the enemy catch them unawares. The dormouse had wanted to pluck his feathers from his body and burn them one by one, but she could not hold onto her anger in the face of his slumped wings and downcast eyes. She was a soldier, he was a simple minstrel.

So, Bell had made excuses for him and led him into the desert. She had watched him save her life by acting the idiot, and had been amazed at the transformation from 'that spy' to 'my comrade'.

It had started with Damask and now everything had come down to Damask. By hurting the robin, Matukhana had unwittingly turned the matter personal. Bell might have been inclined to leave the vermin to their ship and wash her paws of the affair, but that Chickenhound had wounded her comrade. However, what Matukhana had begun with a fractured wing, had become a split face, had become a dead recruit. The next logical progression in this private little war, then, was mass murder, and Bell fully intended to have Matukhana alive and witnessing the death of each of his crew.

_But the wee foxer willnae care,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sailpaw warned.

_Oh, he'll care,_ Bell assured herself as she opened the door to the hut and strode out. The red sun bleeding over the horizon to the east signaled the new morning and her resolve. Time to find Sagaru. _Not because the lives of his crew are important. He'll care because I'm breaking his tin soldiers._

_And to think,_ the dormouse mused, allowing the mad grin for just a moment, _all because I love that stupid bird...and hate him, so very, very much._


	65. Just Another Perfect Day

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* * *

**Chapter 65. Just Another Perfect Day  
**_  
by Revel _

It was going to be fine. Everything. Everything was going to be fine.

The soup bubbled. She had found some flint and tinder, in all the mess. The only spices around were shredded pieces of amaranth. One of the searats had been kind enough to leave a flask of water outside the hut for her, which she used as the base after wetting her tongue. The meat was good.

Everything was... was going...

The hut stank. She'd done her best to clean it up, pushing the scattered tools back into a pile, putting the cot back against the wall, rolling the straw mat back out. The coat was spread across the cot, arranged with almost loving care. But she couldn't fix Tishka. He was everywhere, all over the floor, on the walls, in the dirt, on her dress, her fur - in the pot.

Everything was going to be fine...

Her eyes hurt. The strange hues of morning turned the desert beyond the doorway into a landscape out of nightmare. She hadn't slept more than a few minutes at a time, and she couldn't stop crying. Rath - Tishka - Venril - Eliza - Rath - Keane - Eliza - Zhipzi - Venril - Rath. It whirled constantly, the names and faces and smells of each beast, gone. Gone but not gone, ghosts in the sand. She wasn't forgetting them. Why couldn't she? They were gone...

Everything...

What would she call them when they came?

"Feh... so th'old weasel was tellin' truth, eh?"

Revel started so badly the trowel she was using as a ladle dropped into the pot, spraying her with the soup's contents. She yelped at the heat, and wiped her face with her blood-dried skirt as she reached for her knife.

Her wrist was pinned to the ground by a footpaw. She stared up the leg, past the woodlander-hide kilt, the fuzzy, scarred white chest, now yellow in the dim firelight from the stove. She stared into red-rimmed black eyes as they scanned the hut with interest, glimmered with mirth at the mess of otter, and then settled themselves on her, locking their gazes together.

"Remember me, wench?"

She tried to place him. The voice rang no bell, the face conjured no memory. She sniffed at him.

_He smelled..._

Empty and musty. Dry, rotten wood. Dirt and dust and sand. A little of grog, a whiff of coconut, rust and - oh, it was strong, overpowering. Such a _coward_. Not a whiff of blood on him, not a fleck of sweat but his own, and it was weak and oily, far worse than Venril's old scent.

Venril. Venril's sweat had been strong, full of fire and passion, and the blood in his clothes that one time - like a fantastic fog, it had swirled about him, drawing her in. Such a heady scent of dominance. There had been something like the last will of a life, holding onto his fur in quiet desperation, and power over it had been his. Not fear, but power.

There was no power here. There was no fear. There was just this stoat, and his whiskers half-missing.

"No," she said.

She missed Venril - Rath - Keane - Eliza - Tishka - Trpcic - no. Everything was going to be okay.

The stoat's other footpaw caught her in the chin, and would have sent her backwards if not for the weight - all of his weight - on her arm. Revel twisted sideways onto the floor, and whimpered as a tooth drooled out the side of her mouth.

"First Mate Nivard. Ye thought I was scum, dincher, wench? Thought ye were above me. But ye came around! Almost 'ad ye, back on the ship. Clever move, gettin' Cap'n ter put ye in th'brig, nice an' safe. Feh! But ye came around! Why? _Why_? What did ye want with me? Why'd you leave? I told ye to stay! It was _safe_ there!"

He kicked her again, in the back, as she tried to push herself up. Her paws slid in a pool of Tishka's blood; something slimy gave way beneath her, and she fell hard.

"Ye ran away. With th'marten, aye, and all the woodlanders. Think yer a woodlander, wench? Got yer tail all busted up, bent like a squirrel? Thought I wos gonna kill ye, didjer? After I gave my word? Said I'd come back fer ye. Thought I'd lie?"

Kneeling, Nivard brushed Birch's hammer up and down her cheek and neck, as if petting her with it. Revel kept still, trying to keep her eye on it.

"So soft now... wot a lovely winter coat comin' in... I wanted ye. But ye ran away. Why?"

"E-E-Eliza... promised me a dress..." Her head felt numb, her tongue heavy. She spat blood, but not much. "I wanted t'be pretty for Ven - for you."

"This wreck?" Nivard took a fold of the dress between two claws and rubbed the fabric against itself. "This won't do fer me."

He seemed to notice her stomach for the first time. A slow, wicked smile twisted his muzzle. He looked at the hammer in his paws, then shoved it back into his belt as he stood up.

"Too easy..."

Turning around, he selected the shovel from the pile of tools. He grinned down at Revel.

"Ye wanna be pretty? Feh! First things first - ain't no maids a-milkin' ever been pretty twice!"

It hit once - Revel screamed, silent and breathless. He had hit her chest with the flat of the shovel, having misjudgied the length. Despite the pain, despite the agony rippling through her body, Revel held her paws up and grabbed at the shovel blade when it came around a second time. The impact broke through the flesh on her arm, but it she had succeeded in stopping it coming nearer her stomach. She grasped and pulled, yanking it out of Nivard's grasp. The male was surprised for a moment, then grinned wider.

"Feisty..."

She couldn't swing the shovel back at him in time, not from her position on the floor. He hooked his paw around her neck, the other one grabbing the shovel and tossing it away as if it were no more than a dead stick.

Revel's jaws snapped, but all she bit was dust. Her nose filled with it; her lungs ached for moisture. Nivard had turned her head, and was pressing her face into the floor. She heard a ripping sound, felt a draft across her back, and then the world was muffled. Her mouth was relieved but for a second before it was filled with cloth, and her nose covered, too.

Everything was going to be fine. She was sure of it.

"Not gonna be a lick-spittle," she could still hear the male stoat grunt, as if to himself. "I'm still First Mate, 's bloody right... They'll learn t'fear me again, on me oath! One wench at a time."

The struggle was brief, and not nearly so violent as anything before it. When Revel's kicking had stopped and she was finally unconscious, Nivard unwrapped the dress top from her head and laid it down over her like a blanket.

Then he ate some soup. It was better than anything Kirby had fed him.


	66. A Simple Prop, To Occupy My Time

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* * *

**Chapter 66. A Simple Prop, To Occupy My Time...  
**  
_by Eliza_

Gravity pulled heavily upon Eliza's lashes. She had tossed and turned for most of the night, and the little sleep she'd managed had been that ruddy annoying sort which tricked her into dreaming that she was still awake. How on earth these stupid corsairs managed to get any rest in their flimsy little lean-tos was beyond her.

The fire crackled miserably. Eliza poked at it with a stick, sending up a cascade of sparks. The tiny lights spiraled aloft, fading away into the dawn. The pine marten frowned at them, bitterly thrusting her poker into the embers.

_It hurts, doesn't it?_

No! Eliza stabbed the fire again. _It doesn't hurt! Damask left because he's a stupid jealous little fool who deluded himself into thinking he loved me because... Well, because he's an idiot! I shan't miss him at all._

Then why did you keep the bangle?

Eliza absently stroked the thing, tracing its curve with a claw. _Because it's pretty, that's why._ This seemed like a lie, and hardly a good one. The bangle was tarnished, and a bit scratched in places. Any jeweller back home would taken a single incredulous look, sniffed, and had it melted down for scrap.

_"It's pretty." Really? That's the reason? Not something sensible, like, "Because it was a gift," or "Because it matches my dress," or even the truth, "Because, maybe, deep down, I actually did care just a little bit about Damask, because maybe amid all of the verses and stanzas I saw just that one tiny glimmer of actual selfless, real love, and I didn't know what to do about it, and it scared me, and maybe I actually kind of liked it, just a little bit!" How does that sound?_

Eliza stared furiously into the flickering blaze, refusing to answer herself. She focused on the sounds of the grove, letting the ambient noise flood her ears and drown her thoughts. The fire crackled and hissed, but not nearly loud enough. The wind was whispering, setting the palm leaves aflutter. They sounded like feathers... _No! Shut up! Just shut up! I don't care, all right? I never cared! I toyed with him because I thought he could be useful, and that's it. I don't need him, and I don't even need Venril any more, because I've found my own way home. I'm going to go home, and I don't care about stupid Damask or stupid Venril or any of these stupid wretches with their stupid cares and concerns. _

There was another sound. Footpaws, grinding into the sand, gradually heading her way. Eliza looked up, eyes narrowed, expecting Venril to emerge. Doubtlessly, the stoat's addled mind had prompted him come back for another "rescue."

_What an idiot. His naiveté could almost be tragic, if it wasn't so bloody stupid._

However, it was not Venril, but a bleary-eyed Matukhana who stumped out of the foliage. Eliza shifted aside as the Captain slumped onto her log, taking no notice of her annoyed glare.

Eliza sniffed as she studied the dishevelled Captain. Matukhana sat hunched, swallowed in the folds of a bulky cloak. The fox stared straight ahead, his eyes glimmering with golden fury. Below them, a perimeter of scabbing and sickly pus lined the ragged jaw wound, giving him a grotesque half-grin. The contrast made him look mad as rabbits.

Matukhana's lips shifted involuntarily, and Eliza smirked at the resulting shudder of pain. _So much for your great veneer of invulnerability, Captain. You bleed just like the rest of the wretches, no matter how you try to deny it. And facial wounds bleed for a long, long time..._

"'m 'ungry," the Captain finally croaked, his voice thin. "Find Kirby'n gemme summ't t'eat."

Eliza sniffed. "Do I look like a minion to you?"

The fox snatched her paw and twisted it, hard. Damask's bangle crushed fur and skin. Eliza squealed in pain.

"You are wha'ever I say y'are, wench. Now go," Matukhana snorted, and flung her away.

Eliza's tongue dammed a tirade of violent curses and insults. Her breath came in short spurts. She wanted to scream at him, draw her knife and lunge forward and stab him and stab him and stab him. Stab him right through that wicked black-veined heart and _kill_ him, and throw his stupid carcass into the fire and let him burn all the way to Hellgates.

_No. Home. Kill him, and you'll never get home. Just go. Do what he wants._ Eliza stumbled off, her arm throbbing. One painful tear slipped down her cheek.

She wandered numbly towards the huts, trying to recall which hut belonged to the cook. She vaguely recalled hearing that the woodlanders had permitted the vermin to remain in the drolly titled "mess hut," as it was slated for demolition the next day anyway.

Eliza picked her way over to the ramshackle dwelling, and tapped hesitantly upon the door. No reply. She rapped louder. Still no reply.

"Hey! Cook!" she shouted, pounding the wood with a clenched paw. "Open the door!"

When this failed to produce a result, Eliza invited herself in, pausing first to compose some choice words for the slacker in charge.

She frowned as the door sagged open. The mess hut floor was crowded with sleeping vermin.

_Huh,_ Eliza sniffed. _Evidently I'm not the only one who'd prefer not to repose in a filthy palm grove._ Gingerly stepping over the slumbering forms, the pine marten made for the kitchen. A dozing weasel barred the door, but moved aside with some footpaw-driven encouragement.

The kitchen was a horrible cacophany of cookware, bird bones, and rotted bits of vegetation. The cook himself lay in the corner, spread across a mat of sacking. The obese ferret was dead to the world, peg-leg twitching. His enormous fleshy stomach rose and fell with each warbling snore.

"Wake up, Wobbleguts!" Eliza commanded. "Your mighty Captain wants his breakfast!"

Wobbleguts, in reply, shifted slightly and grunted something like "Rknuh."

"Hey!" Eliza snapped, kicking at where she assumed the cook's ribs to be. "Get up!"

"Gerrof, lout! 'snot brekkist yet," burbled the ferret.

The lout kicked him again, sending a ripple through his blubber. "I don't care. The Captain wants breakfast! Get up!"

Wobbleguts' mouth sucked in a cavernous yawn. "Uh?" he queried. "Cap'n?"

"Captain Matukhana wants breakfast," Eliza repeated again. "And he's in a foul mood, so I suggest you shift your flabby self and get to it."

"Aright, aright." Scritching at a greasy ear, the ferret heaved himself upright. Glaciers of stomach oozed into place as Wobbleguts donned a threadbare apron. The ferret stumped about, snatching various pots and implements.

As Eliza watched him putter, a delightfully juvenile idea presented itself. "Do you have any salt?"

Wobbleguts' eyebrows contorted. "Salt?"

"Yes," she said, smiling prettily. "Salt. Captain Matukhana specifically asked that I bring him something with a lot of salt in it."

Wobbleguts spoke very slowly and deliberately, as though mentally chewing a tough piece of meat. "'e wants 'is _porridge_ with salt in?"

"Oh, yes. Lots." _And I hope his wound feels every single grain._

The ferret sighed laconically. "Alright, then."

As Wobbleguts began liberally salting the porridge pot, a stoat poked his head into the kitchen. "Oy, Kirby, wot's cookin'?"

Wobbleguts grimaced, wiping his nose on the back of his paw. "Porridge."

"Daw, porridge agin?"

"Aye," nodded the ferret. "It's all we've got left, an' since those ruddy woodland lot 'ave taken over, we can't... Oy, Dugan, summat the matter with ye?"

Dugan was bent nearly double, coughing violently. Eliza stepped back, wrinkling her snout, as Wobbleguts fetched the stoat a hefty slap on the back.

"Ghoauww!" the corsair gasped, sucking in a lungful of air. "Whew. I'm aright, mate, but that wos a good ol' cough, there!"

"Well, we'll fetch ye some porridge, then, an' let it sort out that cough, eh?"

"Aye. Though ye might need quite a bit of it. Half the lads in there were coughin' and hackin' for mosta the night. I hardly got any shut-eye, list'nin' to em."

Wobbleguts laughed. "Ah, ye're all prob'ly just tuckered out from the fightin' and scrappin' yesterday. It'll be porridge an' soup for ye today, an' ye'll all be right as rain t'morrer."

"Aye..." Dugan murmured absently, as though trying to sort something out in his head.

Eliza spoke up. "As charming as this conversation is, the Captain is still waiting."

The cook grunted and passed her the bowl of porridge. Large grains of salt dusted the top of the wobbly clumps. "There y'go, then. I 'ope he enjoys it."

"I hope so, too," Eliza lied.


	67. Family Values

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**Chapter 67. Family Values  
**  
_by Venril _

Venril scowled as Liza suddenly ran away to go chase down Damask and sooth his hurt feelings. _Great, leave it to Damask to throw a fit to get her attention._ Venril realizedthat he wasn't doing a particularly excellent job of rescuing Liza. However, it was also true that Liza didn't seem to feel any urgent need to _be_ rescued. The fact that he and Damask could just waltz in there, have a conversation with the marteness and then go their separate ways without being interrupted suggested that there wasn't much effort being put into holding Liza. _But Liza was a slave herself! She wouldn't be in on doing that to other creatures, especially when the beast doing it is the one who enslaved her in the first place..._

It suddenly occurred to Venril what Liza was doing, and he felt both a certain exasperation over not having thought of it earlier, and a rush of admiration for the clever marteness. _Of course! She's spying on him. If she had just run off with me, there wouldn't be anyone here to keep an eye on Matukhana._ Thus satisfied, Venril decided that he should leave Liza to her own devices for right now, and go recruit his hordebeasts away from Matukhana.

The moon was beginning to set, and a small vestige of sunlight could be seen. Venril was able to locate his hordebeasts fairly quickly. They were still together, the ones that were left, and Venril was disheartened to see how few of them that actually was. Just fourteen of the original platoon were there, the rest having been lost to the shipwreck, the hazards of the cave or the woodlanders. Still, it was a good sign that they maintained their cohesion as a group, having slept together some ways from the corsairs, and had posted a watch, a weasel whose name Venril desperately tried to remember, but had not been in the caves with him. To Venril's amazement, the weasel, although clearly surprised to see him, actually gave him a salute. It took several seconds for Venril to remember to return it.

"There y'are, Cap'n. We were worried 'bout ye," said the weasel.

"Oh, well here I am. Err, what is your name?"

"Switchtail reportin'. Everybeast accounted for wot's still alive. Lost a few in the battle, but most survived who hadn' already died in the caves or the ship." The weasel smiled. "Or gotten their tails settled after tryin' to rebel."

"What?" Venril was very surprised at the implication that they knew what had happened to Verand, and it must have showed on his face, because the weasel laughed.

"News travels fast 'mong 'ordebeasts, sir. We knew ya 'n' the stripeyface were gonna scrap sooner or later. Didn' think ye had it in ye, Cap'n'."

Switchtail shook his comrades awake. "Cap'n's back."

Venril quickly found all fourteen sets of eyes looking at him and felt a little nervous. He had never been one for crowds. "Well…uh…I know how we can survive this and all go home."

"I think Matukhana's tryin' for that, though I don' know how well he's doin' it," Switchtail said.

Venril nodded. "We can get around him, though. I was away in the caves with the Fritte—with the cave dwelling vermin Matukhana wanted to make into slaves. I met with the two woodlander leaders—"

There was a bustle of dismay amongst the vermin, and Venril realized he had to get control of the situation fast or he might lose them. "They're only mad at Matukhana! They don't care about us at all. We can just sit out this whole fight, not have to lose any more of our lot."

"'Ow will we get 'ome without a ship?" The rat speaking didn't sound convinced, but nobody was openly mutinying, so Venril felt a little encouraged.

"Look at us. We're a small group, and we don't have that far to go. What do we need with a whole big ship? The corsairs are just using you to provide security for them until they can run off and go pirating again. We could just build a little boat or raft, sail it in a straight line down the coast for a few days, ditch it when we get to a good place and just trek it the rest of the way rather than fighting off woodlanders so a bunch of corsairs can build a ship we might not live to use."

"We've already lost good mateys from those woodlanders…"

"Yes," Venril said, "And I'm not suggesting that you have to fight with them. I'm just saying you shouldn't fight at all. We can sit this out, wait for things to settle down, and then just go home. Some of us lived in the caves for over a week. This probably won't take that long to get worked out. There's food and water, and everything else you need to camp out down there."

The hordebeasts considered this. Finally, Switchtail spoke for the group. "We're with you, Cap'n."

Venril tried not to look visibly relieved. "Of course. Follow me, I'll show you the caves."

The vermin assembled their gear and began to follow Venril, Switchtail walking next to the stoat. "Bit surprised at ye, Cap'n Venril. Didn't think ye had it in ye to take down Verand."

"Oh. Umm. Thank you?" Venril said, unsure of how to respond.

The weasel smirked a little "So, 'ow's it goin' with the marten jill?"

Venril's ears felt a little warm. "Oh, uh, well, she wants to take things slowly, but I'm definitely winning her over." The stoat thought he did a pretty good job sounding more confident than he felt. It was a skill he had gotten to be pretty good at since arriving in the desert.

The weasel kept talking, but after a while, Venril's mind began to wander.

_I've held up my end of the bargain and taken the hordebeasts out of the fight. Liza's spying on Matukhana and Rath.., seasons, Rath is gone._ The pain came rushing back, and he forced himself to shove it aside. _It almost feels like I'm forgetting about someone, though…oh! That's right, that crazy jill, Revel, who was pregnant._ Venril felt a little twinge of guilt. A pregnant female probably was not very safe in a place like that. He really should have gone and gotten her. The stoat looked up at the sky.

_Hmm. There's a little bit of time left before the corsairs are likely to get up. Maybe I still have time for one more quick trip back…_

By the time the hordebeasts reached the cave, Venril had made up his mind. After taking them down to get them settled in with the Fritterik, Venril emerged from the cave again and headed back towards the palm grove. It took him a long time, but finally he saw the little hut some distance removed from both the grove and the settlement where the woodlanders were.

Venril moved to the hut and cautiously poked his muzzle into it. "Err, Revel, are you in here?"

"Ven... Venril? Venril!" The stoat jill sat up on the cot where she had been laying, and Venril was shocked to see that she was bruised and bleeding. It looked like someone had attacked her viciously, and Venril felt a surge of anger at whoever had done so.

"Revel, what happened to you?"

"Nothin'."

Venril sighed. "Come on, _something_ did that to you. What was it? Who was it?"

"It was nothin'!" Revel's voice was a bit sharper this time, and she sounded like she might be on the verge of tears. Venril decided not to press the issue.

"Err, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the Fritte--." Revel stood and half walked, half waddled over to where he was.

"O' course I'll come with you, Venril!" She gave a little chitter and then proceeded to rub her neck against his, a gesture that caught Venril completely by surprise. "Better yet, you could stay 'ere..."

"Uh, Revel, you didn't even let me finish explaining where we were going." The stoat took a big step backward. "I came up to get my hordebeasts and rescue Liza—"

Revel snorted. "Eliza! 'S always Lizalizalizaliza with you! She's not even a STOAT! Why d'you care?" The last question had a note of desperation to it.

Venril scowled. This was not what he had come all the way out here for.

"Because she's Liza! I know she's not a stoat, but maybe that doesn't need to be—she's a very special marteness. She's smart and spirited and she's been through a lot but doesn't let it get to her or scare her. She doesn't really notice me yet, but eventually she will!"

For some reason, Revel looked chipper at the news that Liza was not as interested in Venril as Venril was in her. "I know somebeast who notices you, an' she's a stoat, too..." She moved closer to Venril again and resumed her nuzzling. "I really like your smell."

Venril flattened his ears, unsure of what to do about this. "Err, Revel? This is not why—"

"OY!"

Revel gave a squeak of fright and dashed away from Venril as another figure entered the hut. It was a burly stoat who Venril vaguely remembered from the voyage. He appeared to be unarmed, aside from a flask, but was much larger and heavier than Venril, and looked rather mean as well. This was not helped by the fact that he seemed to have had some damage to his face, which had healed partially but was still easily visible. He looked evil.

"I leave yer alone long enough to get some grog to wet m'whistle, and I finds you 'ere rubbin' yerself up on Cap'n Scrawny 'ere."

Revel cowered on the cot, dragging Rath's coat overtop herself like a blanket. "Don't 'urt me, Nivard! I wasn't doin' nothin'."

Venril saw the fear in her face and suddenly knew exactly what had happened to her.

"Stop it! This was just a misunderstanding!"

"I'll give yer a misunderstandin'!" Nivard seized Venril by the shoulder and shoved him, sending him crashing into a wall. The smaller stoat ducked as Nivard followed up with a punch that sent his fist crashing through the thin wall of the hut. As the corsair struggled to free his trapped paw, Venril threw a series of punches at his face, exactly like Rath had taught him.

_Thumb tucked in, lead with the first two knuckles, put your weight into it…_The ferret's lessons had served him well, but Venril was still very surprised as the yowl of pain from the other mustelid. His form may have been good, but Venril really wasn't THAT strong.

Apparently, Nivard was better at throwing punches than taking them. The other stoat finally freed his paw, however, and sent a fist into Venril's face followed by a headbutt that caused blood to spray from Venril's muzzle and made his ears ring. Nivard followed up with two kicks to the ribs that made Venril curl up into a ball.

"Liddle sneak! I'll show ye to creep in and try to get my female!" The corsair dropped down and wrapped his paws around Venril's neck. The smaller stoat struggled to breathe, his lungs burning. The punches he threw at Nivard from the ground were totally ineffectual. Finally, as his vision began to blur, he stopped trying to punch and instead began to grope at the pouches on his belt. His paws closed around a jag, sharp piece of rock that he had found during his week in the caves. It was jet black and very shiny, and Venril had never seen a rock like it before, so he had picked it up. Good thing, too.

Venril swung the piece of rock again and again with all the strength he could muster, and as his vision began to grow dark, he was rewarded with a spray of warm blood and a scream from Nivard, who released Venril's throat as his paws flew to his face. Venril shoved the off-balance corsair, and then it he who was on top, slashing Nivard across the face and neck with the piece of shiny black rock, tearing chunks away from the abusive stoat's face.

Nivard's face was a hideous sight by now. Most of his left cheek had been ripped away by Venril's rock, exposing sinew and bone, and part of his nose had been crushed in. The rest of his face was covered with gashes and scrapes.

Nivard finally managed to muster up the strength to throw Venril off of him. He delivered a sharp kick to Venril's face, but then began to try to stagger out of the hut, running away rather than continuing to fight.

Venril snarled. Seeing a clay pot sitting on a cooking fire in the corner, he rushed over and grabbed it, throwing it's contents over Nivard's head. The corsair stoat let out a high pitched scream as the burning contents scalded his exposed flesh. Venril, now free to pull out his saber, did so, and slashed across the back of Nivard's leg, dropping him to one knee. The stoat then stabbed through Nivard's side, and kicked him in the back as he withdrew the sword. Dropping the saber, Venril pulled out his knife, grabbed Nivard's head and pulled him backwards.

"P…please…" Nivard could barely get the word out.

"Sorry, Nivard. Matukhana's going to have going to have to find another corsair, one who doesn't beat up pregnant jills!" The stoat jabbed his knife into Nivard's stomach and pulled the blade laterally.

He gutted Nivard like a fish.

Stepping away from the dying corsair, who lay on the ground moaning and clutching his exposed entrails, Venril walked back to hut. Revel's face lit up as he walked in.

"Is 'e... gone?"

"Yep. Nivard is gone now."

Revel nodded happily, then frowned and began to sit up again. "You're bleedin'... Did - aaourgh!" The jill suddenly curled up, clutching her stomach. Venril started to rush forward, but suddenly she looked up at him and snarled. "G...get out! Go 'way!" Venril would never have expected her to be able to yell that loudly. He beat a hasty retreat, jumping over the pool of blood and intestines next to Nivard, who gurgled weakly as Venril made a hasty departure from the area.

The sun was now beginning to rise, and Venril decided it was time to head back to the caves. He scowled as he jogged away from the camp, acutely aware that he had accomplished absolutely nothing other than enraging Matukhana if Revel should say who killed Nivard. He sincerely hoped the stoatmaid would have the good sense to get rid of the body, or mislead Matukhana, or do something, anything, other than tell Matukhana it was him. Knowing her, he decided not to get his hopes up.

The stoat was fairly close to the caves when all of a sudden a voice started yelling. "Hold it right there, mister!" A young female squirrel marched right up to him, club in paw, accompanied by her equally juvenile companions, an otter and a mouse. "I'm taking you prisoner in the name of Sagaru...and...and the Oasis!"

Venril just gawked at her, scarcely able to believe that she was trying to hassle him. "Can you get out of my way? I've been up all night and I just want to get back to the caves and go to sleep."

"I don't think so, Mister Stoat! You think I'm going to fall for the whole 'look tired' trick! Oldest trick in the book!"

"Err, which book, Ash?" the otter interjected.

The squirrelmaid just gave him a dirty look and turned back to Venril. "You're coming with us. Are you going to go quietly, or are we going to do things the hard way?" The squirrelmaid's swagger was absurdly out of proportion to her small size and nonexistent level of menace.

"Look, can you stop playing stupid games and just-OWWW! Geez, what the 'Gates are yo--OWWW!" Venril shouted in pain as the squirrel smacked him in the shin with her club, than struck him again near the tail. The stoat snarled, but he didn't draw his weapon, not wanting to incite Bellona's eventual wrath. "Why are you hitting me? Are you insane? I have a truce with Bellona, you crazy little--" The next word he called her was considerably harsher.

Ash gasped at the obscenity, and then proceeded to slap him across the face, a move Venril had not at all expected. "You're not allowed to use words like that here!" She slapped him again. "Bad stoat! Bad, bad, BAD stoat!"

_Has everyone around here gone completely mad? First Revel practically tries to drag me into bed with her, and now this!_ "Stop it! I'm leaving now, just let me alone!

"Oh no, you don't! I'm taking you to see Sagaru!"

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am!"

Venril scowled. "No. You're. Not!"

Some time later, a bruised, unhappy Venril was dragged in front of Sagaru by the three woodlanders. Ash saluted smartly, or tried to, except that...

"Hey! You're not supposed to turn your palm outward like that when you salute!" Venril felt like he had scored a minor point here when the squirrelmaid actually corrected her salute.

"Miss Sagaru! We captured this vermin ruffian trying to sneak in and spy on us!"

"I was not! You just ran up and--" Venril began to protest his innocence, but before he could finish his sentence Ash began talking again.

"Probably going to tell Matukhana everything--"

"She just started hitting me for no reason with--"

"Or going to murder us all in our beds once--"

"And I told her about the truce, but she just kept on smacking me--"

"Called me a nasty name, too! He actually said--"

"Because you hit me with a club when I wasn't doing anything at all! I thought you woodlanders were supposed to be peaceful!" Venril felt increasingly indignant.

"Well next time why don't you think before you call someone a--"

"You mean someone who just smacked me in the shin? Why don't YOU think before you just start--"

"Venril, Ash, PLEASE!' Sagaru, whose face seemed a mixture between annoyance and amusement, raised her paws for silence. "Now, Ash? Venril is correct. We have a truce in effect with Captain Venril and the beasts of Baron Proklyan's horde. They are allowed to stay peaceably in the cave of the Fritterik, and will then leave the Oasis once Matukhana is gone."

Venril smirked at Ash, who just scowled.

"As for you, Captain Venril, please try to act more like a Captain, and refrain from further shouting matches with my subordinates."

"Did the stoat start another pointless argument, ma'am?" Bellona walked over to join them. Venril noted, with great surprise, that although she had tried to clean up, the fur around her eyes looked a little bit matted, and overall she seemed extremely stressed and haggard.

_Was Bellona...crying?_ The very idea of the tough, combative dormouse crying over anything was ridiculous, and yet that's what it very much looked like had happened. He gave her a strange look, but the glare she gave him told him not even to broach the topic.

"I just got back from the Palm Grove. I got all of my hordebeasts away, and I also had to kill one of the corsairs when he tried to attack me. Damask and I were going to go rescue Liza, too. We found her, but decided to leave her alone since she's spying on Matukhana. Make sure you...don't hurt her." Venril's curiosity grew at the harsh scowl that found its way onto Bellona's face at the mention of Liza's name.

"I see."

'So, uh, after that, I went and found that pregnant stoat. I think she's about to give birth. I don't know what happened to Damask..." Venril's voice trailed off as Bellona's face grew even darker.

"Damask is gone. He left because of that...that manipulative _strumpet_ Lacrimosa," the dormouse said harshly.

Venril bristled. "Hey! Don't talk about Liza like that! She's a very special marteness, a real lady. She most certainly is not a strumpet!"

Bellona sneered. "That must be what she is. I can't see any other reason Matukhana would keep her about."

"Liza would never do THAT! He's a FOX, not a mustelid!" Venril spluttered.

"And she led on a bird...stoat." The pointed look Bellona gave him made Venril want to snarl.

"That's different! They weren't actually doing anything! And I'm at least a mustelid!

Bellona rolled her eyes and began to walk away, apparently tired of this argument. "Fine. You deserve her."

Venril scowled. "You didn't even let me finish talking before you started insulting her. She's staying there so she can spy on Matukhana and undermine him from within!"

"If you say so, stoat..."

"Also, did you hear me earlier? Revel is about to have kits!"

"Frankly, Venril, that news doesn't interest me."

The two were suddenly interrupted by Baez the hedgehog, who must have arrived earlier in the argument without Venril's notice. "Thou mayst not care, but I do. I shall go to her in time to attend to the newborn kits. I would ask that thou, Bellona, should come with me, and thou as well, Venril."

"Must I?" Bellona asked, looking far from excited at the prospect.

"Why?" Bellona asked, seemingly confused by the hedgehog's request. "I've no business with that stoat or her spawn."

Venril frowned at the dormouse as she gave her assent. _Good thing he wants me along too...I'll be watching you, Bellona._ He was not sure at all that the surly dormouse was a beast he would want to have around newborn stoat kits.


	68. And the Sky May Look Blue

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 68. And the Sky May Look Blue  
**  
_by Revel_

This was far from ideal. All of it.

It had hit Revel like Nivard's shovel, the realization that _this_, of all places, was what she had been looking for, ever since that stream-side cave with the voles. That place had been ideal. Lots of water, plenty of little rooms, a nice kitchen (stove a little small; what woodlanders called _quaint_), good hunting and a lovely bank with grasses and flowers and sand to play in...

This? This was not what she'd been looking for. The wistfulness she'd felt, those little cravings for hidey-holes and warm spots (vole meat!) - that it had ended in this! The whole thing was simply incredulous. A toolshed! With no proper door, a hole punched in the wall, half an otter and a dozen farming implements strewn about the floor, laying on a cot made out of what felt like old palm tree leaves stuffed inside it, soup everywhere!

Her entire life had led up to this point. Despite the location, it somehow felt... felt _right._ She was supposed to do this.

Revel reached an arm out and tugged at Tishka's hide, yanking tiny pawful of fur out. She rubbed it into the cot's fabric covering and felt somewhat better for it, but it still wasn't proper. Wasn't there a hole under a tree somewhere? Maybe she could still find one before -

No.

Too late.

* * * * * * *

Of all the parts of her that felt sore, her tongue, she decided, was by far the worst.

It was gone. All the pains, all the horrors and panic, all the doubts, every niggling little flutter in her blood, every roiling, sleepless night - vanished as though it had never been.

It was the music. The robin's squawking did not compare; the softness of it filled the hut, as wonderful as rainbow smoke. Every little grunt, every little squeak and squeal was a song unto itself.

They sort of tickled.

It was impossible to tell them apart. They all looked the same, all smelled the same. All she had been able to deduce was that two were female, and three were male. _Maybe_.

She reached down and plucked the quietest out of the squabble, and held it softly against her neck. It - she; it was a female - was so small, so faint. Revel could have almost sworn it didn't even exist after all.

The others were becoming more restless, at the point where they were contented, but still greedily suckling for more. Another fell asleep amidst the wriggling heap, and so Revel began humming to them, softly at first, then louder as the melody became clear. It was one of the last songs the robin had sung for her in the caves. She could only barely remember the words.

_Oh lay you down in moonlight-dappled night  
An' I'm Revel in the scent o' nighttime air.  
For you will find the world is bright and fair  
And you will sleep in a basket, a lovely sight.  
Oh, with your insects they are food and right,  
A maiden's grace with mother's ahumhum... care.  
A courage strong, to face a mean world there,  
An' still to fondle tiny, unfound life... light..._

What matters grace an' beauty next to that?  
What matters how our food chooses to live?  
An' grace an' beauty are but passing things  
An' um... humhum, ah da da, da... hum an' rat,  
An' lovin' all that nature 'as to give,  
An' hearin' all the songs that nature sings.

And she slept, too.

* * * * * *

The hut had changed. Revel sensed it immediately, before opening her eyes. The air was clearer, less oppressive - and less safe.

Tishka was gone.

The otter's corpse, which for the last day had sat slumped against the wall, was gone, and dust and sand thrown over the spots of pooling blood. The straw mat had been rolled up against the wall, and somebeast had taken the rake and swept all the stringy bits, too, and the lines in the dirt flowed through the doorway like little rivers as seen from far up a hill.

"Hello," Venril said, poking his head around the doorway. He stared at the corner of the roof above and behind Revel. "I hope you don't mind... it was starting to smell really bad, and I didn't want anybeast, er, to panic, or get the wrong idea..."

Revel reached behind her and grabbed Keane's coat, pulling it overtop herself despite the heat. Her dress top was bundled beneath her head along with her headscarf, as the cot came with no pillow or blanket of its own. Venril coughed and brought his gaze closer to her face.

"Go 'way," she said, her voice hoarse from singing, and lack of drink.

"We've come to make sure you're alright," Venril said, inching further out of the doorway until only half his face was visible. "Bel - Baez is here, and he's brought Zhipzi."

Through the badly-fitted boards, Revel could see the male's arm wave furiously, blocking out the slivers of light here and there.

"Nonsense," a female voice growled. "It's my toolshed, I can go in if I want. Come on, Leftenant."

Leftenant... Bellona!

Revel didn't shift. She couldn't. Not so soon after... she could barely lift her arm, let alone sit up.

The funny-looking mouse stood in the doorway. Its expression was indecipherable, as its eyes flickered from the jumble of tools, to the upset cookware, to the scene on the cot.

Revel growled, her tail fuzzing out - it was all she could do. The dormouse, thankfully, took the hint and turned away, muttering, "Disgusting!" But another mouse, this one more normal looking, appeared.

It stepped inside, heedless of Revel's warnings, and stopped just two paces away, head cocked to one side curiously.

"They're sleeping?" it asked, glancing up. Revel stared back blankly, teeth bared, willing the mouse into non-existance. "They're... well, I suppose they're cute... after a fashion. You should be, um... _proud_!" The mouse looked behind, whispering to Venril, "Is she a, a Fritterik as well?"

"She's not," Venril said from the doorway. "We really should go now, if she seems alright."

"What, you don't want to stay with her? Aren't they yours, too?"

A short, sharp bark of laughter was heard from Bellona. "I'd be surprised if that one knew where kits came from before today, m'am."

Venril clenched his jaw tighter. "I was merely concerned for her safety! I hardly know her at all! Why is everybeast thinking - And as it happens, I _do_ know, and - "

"Uhmm," Revel said, trying to wet her throat enough to speak.

"What is it?"

"They kinda smell like you."

Venril crept in; Sagaru moved outside to give him room. The male stoat's nose twitched once or twice, then he stood back, staring off into space.

Revel anxiously curled herself closer around the kits. Outside, the two mice's voices were not far off; they remained a faint buzzing in the background, setting Revel's heart pumping.

"Go 'way," she whispered, breathlessly trying to raise her voice. Venril seemed not to hear at all.

Pawsteps in the sand; another figure appeared in the doorway. It was the one-eyed hedgehog.

"Hello, Revel," he said softly, after a minute or two. "Oh, oh dear. Are you doing well? I should be able to get thee something for thy bruises and wounds. 'Tis an unfortunate time for such a blessing to occur, the day after battle..."

"Hhhhff," Revel said, her whiskers splayed. Her tail once again fuzzed out. She realised her knife was gathered with the tools in the opposite side of the hut. Venril had probably put it there while cleaning up. Curse his sissy, scum-riddled hide!

Baez stepped towards the cot, holding out a flask and a loaf of bread.

"I bring thee water, and bread. Pray, do not fear me, Revel. I mean thee and thy young no harm."

She lifted her head and drank, spilling it down her cheeks and whiskers, until the flask was empty. Baez placed the bread on the cot, behind her makeshift pillow, where she could reach it easily later. Revel growled again, but made no move to bite him. She busied herself in arranging the lone female kit back with the others.

"I need to go," Venril said. He took his leave without another word. Revel half-called his name, stopping when she saw what Baez had in his paws.

The hedgehog had filched her headscarf, apparently while she'd been sitting up, and had unfolded it. He held it in front of him, peering intently. Outside, the voices faded as Venril and the mice left again. Revel's eyes were locked onto the headscarf, watching its every movement. If he tore it, or stole it away...

"Where did thou find this?" he suddenly asked. The noise startled Revel, spurring her stressed-out state into action.

"Don't _touch_ that!" She practically screamed. "Venril! Make 'im give it back! Stupid 'og!"

"This... this was my mother's! And - and my..." He sniffed at it, bunching it up into his nose. His eye was wet. "My Suellyn wore this. The very same stitching! When our dear... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to alarm thee. Here thou are."

Revel snatched it back when he came within range, and did her best to tie it around the back of her neck again.

"I must ask thee - have thou seen my Suellyn?"

"I dunno. Yeh," Revel said, perking up slightly. "That was it's name... Sullen or somethin'..."

"Thy have met her, then! When? Where was she - how is she doing?"

"Oh." Revel shrugged and fiddled with the coat overtop of her; the kits were starting to wake and squirm. "I think Nivard killed it."

"What?" Baez put a paw to his mouth. "What - thy mate thou spoke of? What did he... My Suellyn?"

"This'n's my favourite," Revel said, tracing a claw down the back of the female that had rested under her chin. "She's very quiet. Usually," she added.

"What of my Suellyn?" Baez demanded. "Is she well? Where is she? What did your Nivard kill? Tell me!"

"Haha, pritter vikvik! Toller, toller!" Zhipzi the weasel bounded in, one of Venril's hordebeasts leading her. The rat scratched his head, glancing around inside and outside the hut.

"Huh, thought the Captain'd be 'ere. He's left? Wot a lout, leavin' me with no more instructions than this!"

"Toller, I toller," Zhipzi burbled, squatting on the floor and shuffling forward 'til her nose was against the edge of the cot. "Pritterik! Rivvil vikvik."

"Where is Nivard? He is Captain Matukhana's First Mate, yes? Is he still about? Oh, please tell me..."

"Pritterikpritterikpritterik! Lickylick, yip? Ihn yorf?"

"Hoi, did any o' you lot see where Captain Venril went off? Wos it back to the caves, or back to 'is woodland friends? 'Ey?"

"I'm sure - she must be alive... Surely!"

"_Sharrup!_"

Revel was clutching the cot's ticking so tightly that it had torn where her claws gouged it, revealing that it was, as she had suspected, stuffed with old palm tree leaves.

The hut creaked in the wind.

"Everybeast. _Out_."

It took a few seconds for the order to register, then they scattered like the amaranth seeds flitting past the doorway every so often.

"I'm sorry," Baez said. "I need not mean to push thee. I will return later, when thou are faring better."

Revel closed her eyes and let her head fall back down. She moved aside the coat, letting her kits crawl back against her stomach.

How did it go?

_Oh lay you down in moonlight-dappled night  
An' I'm Revel I'm a stoat o' nighttime - no, scent o' nighttime..._

"Pritter vikvik?" Zhipzi's nose rose up from the floor for a moment, as the weasel wormed her way back in.

Revel sighed.

"'Elp me think o' names, Zhipzi?"

The weasel grinned.


	69. Applause! Applause! No, Wait, Wait

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 69. Applause! Applause! No, Wait, Wait..  
**  
_by Eliza_

Eliza squinted out at the shimmering flatlands. The windswept sand yawned away into a beige nothingness, so far as she could make out. She simply couldn't fathom why the woodlanders were so desperate to hold on to this crummy little oasis. It was a collection of squalid huts located in the middle of bloody nowhere, where the ground was gritty and baked your footpaws. By day, the sun was a torturous oven, and the nights shivered in its absence. _Forget Dark Forest; true Hellgates is piddling your life away a place like this._

The pine marten flicked her tail at the huts, picking her way back to the palm grove. She looked grimly at the bowl in her paws, which had ceased to steam. Revenge may have been a dish best served cold, but porridge tended to get rubbery. Matukhana would probably grouse about it, and pitch a tantrum and then she'd have to go clomping back to Wobbleguts for another portion of glop.

The pine marten paused for a second, watching some of Matukhana's corsairs dismantle one of the huts. Eliza smiled. The grunted curses and cracking timbers were the instruments of a glorious symphony, playing the melodies which would carry her home.

One of the demolition crew, a ferret, bellowed as a piece of wood slammed into his footpaw. Snarling, the burly corsair fetched the rat who'd dropped it a hefty smack. The rat crumpled to the sand, and began to cough violently.

Eliza sniffed, and made her exit. _Wretched bits of flotsam. _

She found Captain Matukhana still sitting by the fire pit, engaged in a staring contest with the dead cinders.

Faking a polite cough, Eliza offered him the bowl. With slanted brows, the Captain accepted it, mumbling a bitter, "Took y'long enough."

Eliza smiled in return, savoring a mental picture of the fox screaming in salt-fuelled agony. She turned to leave. _As much fun as it_ would_ be to stick around for the festivities..._

"Where y'think you're goin'?" Matukhana demanded. His voice sounded cracked, thin.

"I need to get some breakfast for myself," she replied, keeping her tone even.

The Captain glared at her. "Si' down. I mi' need you."

"But, my breakfast..."

"Si' down."

Eliza sat, a knot of apprehension building at the back of her throat. The knot grew as Matukhana's spoon plunged into the quivering glop, swiveled, and excised a salty clump. The fox's paw took an eternity to raise the implement to his mouth, and another passed while his lips engulfed the morsel. There was a single tolling beat, the momentary calm before what was sure to be a raging tempest.

Matukhana's lip puckered. One sagging eyelid twitched. Eliza shifted uncomfortably on the edge of her log, fighting the urge to flee.

"Oy, Cap'n!" shouted a blubbery voice. "We got an ol' frien' of yours come ter visit!"

Eliza whirled - and nearly fell, her face suddenly drained of color. _Oh Fates!_ Two corsairs were crashing through the underbrush, dragging with them a horrible, scaly apparition...

The _thing_ hissed and writhed feebly in their grasp as they wrestled it over to Matukhana. Eliza recoiled as the corsairs hurled it into the sand, where it cowered. Its severed tail stump trembled slightly.

"Me'n'Skinny Ryun caught 'im lurkin' about, watchin' us take down the 'uts, Cap'n," a greasy searat reported.

"Thought 'e might like ter say ''ello,' we did," added Ryun, who had presumably gained the moniker 'Skinny' as an exercise in cruel irony.

Matukhana set the porridge bowl down, and addressed his captive. "Been absent a long time, 'aven't ye, cully?"

Eliza gawked at the thing's timid countenance. This brute, this ghastly nightmare who'd menaced her and slain Rath, was reduced to a simpering newt under the Captain's gaze.

"Yez," the beast admitted, tongue darting furiously. "But! Medjool waz watching movementz of Oaziz beaztz to report back to verminz! I hear about woodlander attack, and try warn Captain, but woodlanderz watch I too clozely!"

"I say you should just kill it, Captain," Eliza ventured, glaring at the coward. "That horrible... _thing_ attacked me during the battle, and slew my guard."

"No!" protested the Thing, its voice rising in pitch. "Iz miztake!"

Eliza smiled. _That's right, Stumprump, beg for your wretched little life. It won't do you a wit of good._

Matukhana's gaze bored into the groveling captive, one paw absently straying towards his scimitar. "You killed one'f my crew, lizard?"

"No!"

"He did," Eliza said, throwing a pitiful smile to the doomed lizard.

Stumprump's voice ratcheted up an octave. "Pleaze! Don't zlay I! Medjool iz much uzeful!"

Skinny chose this moment to begin retching. Eliza edged away from the spray zone, her muzzle creased in disgust. The corsair doubled over, still retching, clutching his hairy stomach.

"Shu' that fool up!" Matukhana snapped.

"No worries, Cap'n, prob'ly jist ate 'is brekkist too quick," the searat grinned. The corsair awarded Skinny a hefty smack. "Oy! Snap outta it, mate!"

Skinny Ryun's heaving ribs stilled briefly. "I ain't feelin' s' well, cully," the corsair burbled, still clenching his midriff.

The searat snorted. "Huh, you an' everybeast. I couldn't get a wink o' shut-eye, wid all the mates coughin' an' splut'rin' and moanin'. I even 'eard that Ole Kimpy's been whingein' about 'is teeth bein' itchy, of all things."  
The lizard's head snapped upright. "Your beaztz iz zick?"

"They're probably just looking for an excuse to get out of their work," Eliza huffed.

Matukhana ignored her. "What d'ye know about sickness?"

Stumprump's tongue flailed. "I tell! I tell! While I zpying on woodlanderz, I hear them zay their beaztz alzo zick, alzo coughing. Hak! Hak! Like that one. Perhapz what makez them zick, makez your beaztz zick?"

The dumpy searat gawped. "Gaw, Cap'n, you think mebbe those daft mice've given us a sickness?"

"It's a cough," Eliza cut in. She looked to Matukhana, seeking support. _Come on, Captain. You're honestly going to humour this craven little sandworm? He's lying to save his worthless pebbled hide. Tell your rabble to dispose of him, and then we can finally set about putting this Fates-forsaken desert behind us. _

"It's somethin's got 'alf the crew down," Matukhana admonished her.

"It's a plague!" the searat jabbered, jowls aflutter. "I've 'eard of 'ole ships' crews wot gone ill wid plague, an' all'f 'em dyin' afore they can make port!"

"Belay that gab," the Captain snarled. "Come on, wench. We'll go 'ave a parley wi' th' mice, an' if it's a plague, they'll tell us right enough. An' bring Scaleguts, too."

Matukhana strode off, and Eliza glared at the two petulant corsairs. "Well, what are you fools waiting for? Bring him!"

The searat shook his head as he and Skinny Ryun hauled the lizard upright. "Mark me words, cully. This desert's _cursed_."


	70. Secrets, Lies, and Death By Plague

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 70. Secrets, Lies, and Death By Plague  
**  
_by Bellona_

_"**Cynic** _n._ A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be."_

"Leftenant," Sagaru said as they stepped out of the hut, "I understand you're not overly fond of vermin, but would it pain you so much to show a bit of kindness to a creature who's just birthed a litter? She's no harm to anybeast."

Bell clenched her jaw. "That _thing_ tried to murder Birch, and from the look and smell of it, she succeeded at it with another beast in that hut." The dormouse shook her head. "I can sympathize with a new mother, but not one who...not _that_ one. She's a dangerous thing, like as not to raise more dangerous things."

_We'd be better to just put her and the entire pack down,_ Bell added silently. No doubt, Sagaru would not find such sentiments endearing and the warrior had no wish to quarrel further with the strong-minded mouse.

"Well, I think–"

"Mouse!" the enraged bellow cut through Sagaru's retort. Bell immediately drew her dirk and took up a defensive position in front of the Oasis leader, ignoring the other female's snort of annoyance.

"What do you want, fox?" Bell asked coolly. Matukhana, a lizard, two non-descript corsairs, and the hateful marten, Lacrimosa, halted their march toward the pair of woodlanders.

"What do you know about the sickness my creatures 'ave got?" Matukhana demanded, and then winced. The dormouse noted, with some satisfaction, that the fox looked the worse for wear and that the ragged wound on his mouth pulsed with blood and yellow-green pus.

"Why would we know anything about your flea-ridden hides and the diseases you court?" The warrior snorted.

"He said you knew something," Eliza piped up, pointing to the lizard.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Sagaru growled from behind. Bell could sense the mouse bristling.

"What's all this about, m'am?" she wondered aloud.

"I don't know." The dormouse didn't need to see her face to know that the Oasis leader was lying through her teeth. Bell turned head to glare back at the other mouse.

"Tell me what you know, m'am," she ordered, then gritted her teeth adding, "because some of our beasts have fallen ill, too." It was foolish to reveal a weakness in front of her enemies, but if Sagaru was hiding something...

The Oasis leader remained stubborn. "It's a bit of sunstroke after the caves," she reasoned. "They'll be just fine."

"No, they won't." Bell's hackles rose and she turned full around to face the mouse. "Sailpaw, my captain, wasn't. He started getting a cough, then a fever, then he attacked and tried to bite me. Tell me how that's 'just fine'! And tell me how it's 'just fine' when Rugger told us about the plague from seasons ago. It sounded like Sailpaw had exactly the same thing. Now speak!" The careworn wrinkles on Sagaru's aging features deepened as the dormouse finished her tirade.

"I didn't...I thought..." she trailed off.

"What's all the commotion out here?" Venril emerged from the hut that had become Revel's den and stared, nonplussed, at the scene before him. "Er...Liza?"

"Quiet!" a rat accompanying Matukhana hissed. "We was jist 'bout t'find out summat important."

"I really don't know too much," Sagaru explained, brows knitting together. "I thought it was just a story the elders told to keep us from wandering into the caves and getting lost. We weren't even sure if the vermin -- the Fritterik -- were still alive."

"What about the Fritterik?" Venril tried again.

"Well, now you know." Eliza pursed her lips together and tapped her footpaw. A twisted kind of satisfaction arose in Bell from having 'the love of Venril's life' completely ignore him. If only she'd been so pitiless with Damask, the robin might not have wasted his time with her. The dormouse's satisfaction dissipated as swiftly as it had come at this thought. "What are you going to do about it, then, Winky?"

"There are scrolls with the history of the Oasis in Jurin's...in my hut," the mouse said, disregarding the marten's insulting nickname. "There might be something more about this in them. Maybe a cure?"

"A cure for _what_?" Venril shouted.

All eyes turned to the stoat, who looked away, ears falling back. "Everybeast who went into the caves is getting sick like Scarface's captain," Eliza explained briefly. "There might be a cure. We're going to find out."

After a minor battle of wills, Sagaru led the group, now composed of herself, Bell, Venril, Eliza, Matukhana, and the lizard, Medjool, over to one of the grander huts on the 'woodlander side' of the Oasis. The six beasts filed in, the warrior keeping a wary eye on the vermin as Sagaru shuffled through scrolls that had been flung about the hut.

"Did you idiots have to throw _every_thing on the floor?" the mouse groused as she searched.

"Can't say I cared for the readin' material when I was bunkin' here," the fox commented, but quieted with a whimper after his leer became a pained grimace.

"I've got it!" the leader of the Oasis exclaimed several minutes later. "It's..." her voice lost its exuberance, "It's not much...

"_The 45th day of the Fall of the Lost Souls, Laycee Sandsweep recording_" Sagaru read. "_Praise to the Fates! It is here -- an end to this sickness that has destroyed our families and friends. Rigstern and his crew found it whilst searching out more vermin in the tunnels in the hope that they might offer some insight to their kin's illness. I thank the spirits of creatures past that our good-hearted moles chanced upon that particular cave. I had worried so for Adeny's babes should we be too late in discovering a cure. I fear there can be no hope for the crops this season, but we are blessed with a winter that mirrors summer. There will be hunger, but we shall manage._"

"That's it?" Venril asked, incredulous. "That's nothing! What are we supposed to do with that?"

"Mmm..." Medjool finally spoke. His self-satisfied hiss made Bell want to start removing other limbs to match his tail-less rump. "Maybe Medjool iz knowing a little about thiz cure for fuzzy creature zick." He grinned smugly, exposing two rows of sharp yellow teeth. "Maybe even iz knowing where to find if fuzzy creaturez azk Medjool nize."

In less than three seconds, the lizard was backed against the wall of the hut, five blades poking at whatever piece of scaly flesh they could reach. "You'll talk–" Matukhana breathed into Medjool's face.

"Or you'll die," Bell finished, glaring upward.

The lizard gulped and tried to cower away from the weapons. Bell hated that she was unified with the vermin in anything, but the added menace of the fox's grisly features did have its uses.

"Iz tell! Iz tell, of courze!" Medjool whinged. "Iz meeting verminz in cavez, yez. Not Fritterik. Theze verminz iz climb from zky down to find zlave and not able to get up again. Get lozt in cavez and I iz find. They zick bad with cough and hot bodiez. They mean to Medjool when azk I for help find way out. Zo, I iz run them round cavez. Not want bad verminz find Oaziz," he added with simpering smile directed at Sagaru.

"Get on with it," Bell growled, forcing her dirk between the scales on his midsection. She would have preferred his throat, but Eliza had a knife pressed there. So, the marten had a blade. That was a useful bit of information.

"I iz leave them bad zick by pool in cavez where light come in and muzzroomz grow," the lizard hurried on. "I iz not cruel to make verminz die from hunger and thirzt." This statement was accompanied by a pointed look at Matukhana, though he continued quickly when the fox narrowed his yellow eyes to impatient slits. "When walking in cavez zeazonz later, I iz find bad verminz again. They iz fine, not dead, and have more verminz with them that tazte like blood. I iz confuzed much. I iz wait until one verminz iz alone and then show I to him. He laugh and zay he kill I, but ztill want to know way out and have to thank I. I iz azk why and he tell I how he zurvive." A pregnant pause. "Iz muzzroomz, he zay! Muzzrooms iz make better."

"Do you know where to find this place, again?" Bell demanded.

"Yez!" Medjool bobbed his head up and down quickly. "I show now. All fuzzy creaturez better. But...er...may want get warriorz come. Iz plaze with many bad verminz...Medjool iz hear them called Zrechrrl."

"Well, that's decided," Matukhana withdrew his blade and sheathed it. "I'll go grab a few of my crew and we'll be off."

"_We_?" Bell quirked an eyebrow as she stepped back from the lizard, but kept her dirk in paw. "There's no _we_, Captain. Sagaru, the other woodlanders and I will be dealing with this. Go back to your ship and start building. We'll let you know when we have a cure."

"You ain't leavin' me behind to rot, mouse!" Matukhana snarled, taking an ominous step forward, but keeping just out of the dormouse's reach.

"Come closer, fox," Bell dared, flashing her teeth in a feral grin. "I'd love to even out that face of yours."

"So you'd rather we have the run of the Oasis while you're safely out of our fur in the caves instead of letting us help you?" Eliza snorted. "I didn't take you for a complete moron, Scarface."

"You want to help us," Bell deadpanned.

"What's good for me is good for you," the marten huffed. "It doesn't mean I care one bit about you."

_She has a point,_ the voice of reason inside the dormouse allowed. _And,_ it added, _if it's just Matukhana... Those caves are lovely, dark, and deep. Cut off the adder's head and the rest of it won't know what to do._

"No, it doesn't," Bell agreed, ears jutted forward and eyes narrowed at the detestable wench. "Sagaru," she kept her voice level, not letting it betray her thoughts as her body did, "I think you should stay here, m'am."

"I'm comin–" the mouse began to protest.

"M'am," the dormouse interjected, "there's no sense in us both going into the caves. One of us needs to keep an eye on the vermin up here. Even if they are sick, they could still be troublesome."

Matukhana gave a short bark of humorless laughter. "Thanks for the compliment, mouse."

"I'll take Rugger, Birch, and Nona with me, then this fox..." she considered for a moment, "and the marten." Eliza would work nicely as a living shield, and if nothing else, Bell could dispose of her manipulative hide at the same time as Matukhana.

"You can't bring Liza," Venril protested. "It's too dangerous!"

"I want to go!" Eliza rejoined just a little too swiftly. "I mean... I'd rather help save everybeast."

_And by 'everybeast' you mean 'myself'._ Bell gave a mental snort. Vermin were entirely too predictable.

"If Liza is going, then I'm going, too," the stoat pressed. "I want to get the cure for my crew, anyway...just in case."

"And I ain't goin' anywhere with _you_ without a some useful paws to back me, mouse," Matukhana added, glaring at Bell.

"Fine." The dormouse shrugged. "Stay here. I don't much care." She let an unfriendly smirk curl her lip up. "Have fun catching the plague... if you haven't already."

"You little–!" his next few words left Venril, Medjool, and Sagaru blushing while Eliza's eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. Bell just leered.

_I love it when I win._


	71. World 12: START!

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 71. World 1-2: START!  
**  
_by Venril_

_They're not mine. They can't possibly be mine._Venril couldn't stop thinking about Revel's kits, even as he, Liza and Medjool walked with Bellona and Matukhana and Bellona's bodyguards to find the cave system that Medjool had described. _I'd never even met Revel before the shipwreck, let alone..._

So why did her kits smell so _familiar?_ As much as Venril didn't want to admit it, he really couldn't deny that they really did have a scent similar to his. _Maybe I need to have a talk with Revel about exactly where these kits came from._

Any further reflections were pre-empted as the unlikely companions arrived at their location. Venril found himself staring down a steep, narrow shaft that went almost straight down into the earth. Unlike the entrance that the Fritterik had helped find, this one looked liked it would be totally impassable without the aid of a rope. Luckily, the corsairs had salvaged a large coil of sturdy rope from their ship, which Matukhana was now tying around the trunk of a scraggly tree close to the edge of the cave shaft. The fox's paws quickly formed a complex knot as he divided his attention between the rope and Bellona. After tying the knot, the rat tossed the rope down the shaft. Venril heard a faint impact as the bottom of the coil hit the floor of the cave.

"In you go, Mousey, and mind ye, don't slip," Matukhana leered at Bellona.

Bellona opened her mouth to make a reply, but Venril cut her off. "Can you two stop fighting each other for long enough for us to get these stupid mushrooms and get out of here safely? Remember, these caves are full of the same things that attacked us when we were with the Fritterik."

"I have not forgotten those _things_, stoat, but that's no reason to neglect the the threats that are closer at paw," Bellona replied curtly. "I'll go first, fox. I don't trust you, but I don't think you're suicidal."

The dormouse grabbed the rope and began to shimmy down it with surprising speed. Matukhana's grip on his scimitar tightened, and Venril could tell he was fantasizing about chopping the rope and letting Bellona fall into the cave, to lay injured and helpless until the Srecchrrl arrived. _Can't say that idea doesn't have its appeal, but I don't fancy my odds against Matukhana without Bellona to act as a counterweight._

"I'll go next," the stoat volunteered. He wasn't looking forward to the climb, but figured he might as well get it out of the way. Taking hold of the rope, he began to climb down, much more slowly than Bellona. He climbed and climbed, but it was not long before Venril began to wonder just how far down this cave shaft went. His thin arms were beginning to burn, and under his fur the skin was beginning to get irritated from the friction.

"Bellona? Where's the ground? It's taking a really long time to get down." The stoat chanced a look down, but couldn't see Bellona or the cave floor clearly.

The dormouse stepped into the small ray of light that came in from the entrance, and now Venril could see her a little bit. It was still hard to see the floor independent of Bellona standing on it, though. "What's wrong now, st—"

Venril was so busy trying to locate Bellona and the cave floor that in a moment of inattention he failed to grip the rope tightly enough and slid down much faster than he had intended. He managed to arrest his descent just a bit abve the ground, but then lost his grip again, and Bellona had to leap out of the way to prevent him from hitting her on the way down.

_Owwww…_ The stoat's left paw burned from the rope sliding across it so quickly, and it felt like he had bruises or cuts all over his body. Still, it could have been worse, and it did not take more than a few moments to establish that all of his limbs were intact and he was not seriously injured.

Looking up he saw Bellona looking scornfully at him as he rose. The stoat bristled at her unspoken condemnation. "Don't look at me like that! Some beasts don't spend their whole lives learning to fight! I'm doing the best I can."

"I never said otherwise, but a beast who can barely take care of himself has no business leading others, _Captain_," Bellona said tartly. "I'm not sure who decided to promote you, but I have a hard time believing merit had much to do with it. Are you somebody's son? Did you catch your superior doing something he shouldn't have? Did they just feel sorry for you?"

"I don't KNOW!" Venril practically shouted the last word. He was sick and tired of this self-righteous little rodent with her condescending wisecracks and her smug superiority. "I didn't ask for this job! I'm not related to anybody and they sure weren't doing me any favors. I'm a clerk. A clerk! I sit around writing down what beasts say and keep records of how many barrels of ale are in the storehouse and write letters and do all sorts of things that are probably really boring to Leftenant Bellona the great big _hero_ but that have to get done so the horde doesn't fall apart!"

"Are you quite done ranting? We have work to do." Bellona did not look at all moved or impressed. But at least she did not look _quite_ as scornful as she had before. Any further chance that Venril had of a reply was cut off because it was just then that one of Bellona's companions, a young female squirrel, came down the rope, followed very closely by a Medjool, whose scales protected him as he slid down the rope faster than any of the others. The rest began to arrive more quickly after this. Venril was sure he caught Bellona glaring daggers at him out of the corner of his eye when he went to make sure Liza was alright after she came down the rope, but he shoved this incident aside as Matukhana and the female squirrel each unrolled a bundle of torches.

It had been decided by unspoken consensus that neither side would ever hold all of the torches, because Medjool had said that these caves were much darker than the Fritterik caves, and nobeast was willing to trust the other side with such a vital lifeline. Flint was put to tinder, and soon there were two bright beacons of light filling the cave, one held by Matukhana and one by Bellona, who accepted hers from the female squirrel.

Looking around, Venril was startled to see that this cavern appeared to have been used recently. The bottom of the rope was actually sitting in the middle of a pile of...

"Skulls!" Liza looked vaguely disgusted.

Normally Venril would have responded, but he was much too puzzled by what this new object was. There was nothing random about the skulls. They belonged to various types of mustelid, from what Venril could tell, and had been kept meticulously clean. They were arranged in a pefect circle with the spot of light from above directly in the middle, alternating between skulls pointed towards the center and skulls pointed out.

"Crazy cavebeasts!" Matukhana pulled his leg back to kick one of the skulls away, but stopped as Venril shouted.

"Don't!"

"What're ye on about now?"

"Don't touch it, fox!" Venril spoke harshly, but kept his voice down. It was hard to explain, but something just felt _wrong_ about disturbing what was clearly something the Srecchrrl very much valued.

"Iz right! Beazts get very angry, will kill if zhrine iz harmed." The lizard, Medjool, had already almost started off down the tunnel out of the chamber, restrained only by Bellona's watchful gaze.

"Could we please move along?" The dormouse looked impatient. Venril imagined that she was not at all curious about the artifact.

_Because evil, nasty vermin made it. That's why._ Venril thought acidly.

The band walked down the tunnel for what felt like a long time before finally coming to a divide in the passage. There were two tunnels up ahead, none of them marked in any discernible way. The party paused.

"Which way, Medjool?" Bellona asked the lizard.

The reptile did not give an immediate answer, but instead began to hem and haw in a way that did not inspire much confidence in his navigational abilities. "Iz…iz difficult. Waz long time ago, difficult for I to remember."

There was a collective groan of exasperation. Matukhana slammed the lizard against the wall, his blade against Medjool's throat. "Then just gimme one good reason why we shouldna' chop ye right 'ere and now."

It was actuallyBellona who prevailed upon Matukhana to spare the Lizard. "Hold on, Captain. He might be useful later on. Don't kill him yet."

"Which way do we go? They both look the same," Venril remarked.

Bellona shrugged. "Oh well. I guess we'll just have to search both. My group'll take—"

"They'll take whichever one my crew doesn't want."

"How can I know you won't grab the mushrooms, run back and climb out of the caves and leave us to die?"

"Heh, yer one to talk about trustin', mouse!"

Venril watched this argument go back and forth. Finally, he lost his temper. "Both of you, quiet!" he hissed angrily. "Look, none of us trust each other, so we'll just have to mix up the groups. Bellona, you can have one of your beasts. Matukhana, you can have Bellona's other two beasts and Medjool. With the groups mixed up, nobody can double cross each other. Bellona's beasts will stop you from doublecrossing her, and they'll also stop her from doublecrossing you because then they'd both die."

"Guard 'n' 'ostages at once, eh, Venril?" Matukhana seemed amenable enough to the idea.

"For once, you're actually making sense, stoat." Bellona said. "What about you and…" The dormouse didn't even say Liza's name, merely jerking her head in the marten's direction.

"We'll go—"

"I can decide that on my own." Liza walked over to Matukhana's side as the two groups separated. Venril frowned at her, surprised at the marten's behavior, and a little hurt at how eager she had been, but he shrugged and walked over to Bellona. Out of the corner of his eye, Venril caught Bellona staring daggers at Liza _again_.

"Now. Do we have to draw straws for this, or can we just pick our tunnels and go?" Eventually, it was decided that Bellona, Venril, and the female squirrel, whose name Venril learned to be Birch, would take the left-paw tunnel, while Matukhana, Liza, Bellona's other two woodlanders and Medjool would take the other tunnel.

Venril padded along behind Bellona and her torch. The silence among the group was dense and heavy. Finally, Venril decided to broach the topic he had been wondering about. "Why do you hate her so much?"

"What?"

"Eliza. What did she do to you? You seem to hate her more than anybeast else except Matukhana. You're always spending time with Damask. Hasn't he said anything about her?"

Bellona stopped suddenly, and wheeled around to face Venril. "I'm only going to say this once, stoat. Lacrimosa uses beasts. I know the type. She took and took from Damask until he was completely exhausted and heartbroken and couldn't…couldn't deal with it anymore. She'll probably do the same to you, after stringing you along and pretending she cares. Although I notice that with you she doesn't seem to even be making much of an effort to pretend anymore. And you know what? I don't care. It's what vermin do, she just does it better than most." The dormouse turned around and continued walking.

Venril opened his mouth to respond, then opened his mouth again, but he couldn't think of anything to say in response to that. _Where's the comeback, Venril? Maybe you don't have one because you've been starting to wonder about Liza yourself. About how she's never glad to see you except when there's an emergency. About how she never talks to you, or touches you, or even looks at you except when something needs to be done?_ Venril tried very hard to shove these thoughts out of his head. It was easier to talk than think, so he asked the other obvious question.

"Why are you so bitter? You won't even use my name, and we've been stuck in this desert together for well over a week. Every chance you get you're always sneering or acting superior. I'm just a clerk. I've never conquered or enslaved anyone."

"Yes. You were a clerk. You needn't remind me every other hour just to wallow in your own self-pity. I know this wasn't how you planned for life to turn out, Ve—stoat, but bare this in mind: Sometimes life just doesn't happen the way it's supposed to." The dormouse's voice was still externally condescending, but there was an undertone of tension to it that Venril hadn't heard before.

"Well, that's no reason to be so hostile all the time. You never miss an opportunity to say that you think I'm incompetent, so obviously you don't think I'm actually a threat to you. Besides, I don't like Matukhana any more than you do. I just don't feel like I have to remind everybeast of it several times a day."

"Oh? You didn't seem in a hurry to help us when an actual fight broke. As I recall, you fled and hid while everybeast else who 'doesn't like' Matukhana was doing something about it," Bellona retorted.

"Because it's not _about_ you. I don't care about whatever vendetta you two have against each other. I just don't want them to enslave the Fritterik," Venril said.

"Why? You're part of a horde, Venril. I know you're just a clerk, but as you said, you help them. What do you think hordes do? How do you think your leader became a 'baron' in the first place? By conquering and enslaving other beasts."

"That's different!" Venril objected.

"I didn't take you for the delusional sort."

"But it is! Baron Proklyan does take a tax from all the woodlanders and make them spend a part of the year working on his forts and such, but the rest of the time they're free to do what they want, and he keeps them safe from corsairs and bandits and everybeast else."

"You've asked these woodlanders whether they like this system, then?" Bellona asked.

"No. Have you ever stopped thinking about killing vermin long enough to think about what comes next?" Venril retorted.

"What?"

"You're smart enough to know you can't just keep fighting forever. Haven't you ever wondered about what comes afterwards? What the new ruler is supposed to be once the vermin are gone? Or even just what you want your life to be afterwards? Why do you even bother fighting? You don't seem to have a mate or kits. You don't seem to really have any reason for hating vermin. Sometimes I wonder if you even know what it is you're fighting about."

Bellona wheeled around again, glaring at him. "You assume quite a lot, _Captain_. You know absolutely nothing about me. I had a mate once -- a husband I loved whose paws were colored red with paint, not blood. I fought everyday to keep him safe and the one time that I trusted vermin...the one time I hoped you weren't all the same, Freyr was murdered! I know exactly what I want and what I'm fighting for: to protect creatures from evil snakes like Matukhana and Nashald and Lacrimosa. But I couldn't protect Sailpaw or Giddy or Damask, and now..." The dormouse's voice trailed off at this point. She didn't seem angry any more, just upset. Venril almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

"I guess you're right. I don't think either one of us really wants to be here."

"But we are."

They both were quiet for a while after that, alone with their own thoughts in the darkness and silence of the cavern. However, all three beasts started as they heard the sound of several beasts rushing towards them from behind. Swords drawn, the prepared to defend themselves. However, it was only Matukhana, Medjool, Liza and the other two woodlanders, their running footsteps and heightened breathing seeming very loud

"Wait a second, it's just us!" Liza said. "We walked for a while and then ran into a blank wall, so we were hoping to catch you before you went anywhere."

"Well, give us some warning next time so we don't almost skewer you when we hear running footpaws coming after us," Birch said in annoyance.

"Iz thiz tunnel! I remember now!" Medjool hissed.

Matukhana cuffed him sharply over the head. "This is the only tunnel, you dumb pile of scales!"

The newly reunited group continued. After some more walking, the cave began to get a little less pitch dark, and Venril began to feel an air current.

"Look! Up ahead!" The squirrelmaid Birch suddenly said, pointing animatedly at the light at the end of the tunnel. All of them increased their speed, giving a collective gasp as they entered the cave. It was a wide, open cavern with a high ceiling that included a long slit through which a surprisingly bright amount of light came through. There was a large lake in the middle, and the area was ringed with different colors of quartz and other crystals. The light reflected off the water and the rock walls in strange and diverse ways. This cave was far more pleasant than the domain of the Fritterik. One could even think of it was beautiful. If Venril hadn't seen the Srechrrl himself, he might have had a hard time believing that such a place could house such terrible creatures.

There were no Srechrrl in evidence at the moment, however, and although everybeast kept their guard up, the were able to quickly set to work finding what they were looking for. There were several types of mushroom growing in the cave, including bright red caps and bioluminescent ones that seemed to have a glow of their own. The vast cave took a considerable amount of searching, but finally…

"Over here! I think I found them!" Bellona waved the others over to a large cluster of small, drab mushrooms with light blue spots on them. They matched the description that Medjool had given them.

Before the group could take any further action, however, there was a loud chittering sound. Venril looked up, and saw an undersized, heavily painted weasel staring at them from just out of reach. It had gotten surprisingly close to them without anybeast noticing.

There was a scramble as everybeast went for their weapons, but the the weasel did nothing exce[t continue to watch them, looking more curious than threatening. It was soon joined by several others, who climbed down rapidly from surrounding ledges. The group soon grew to seven, but none of them did anything threatening.

Venril noticed that though the dark-painted mustelids were undersized by normal standards, they seemed to be bigger and stronger than the Fritterik. Their fur was glossy and healthy, and overall they seemed much better nourished than the other cavedwellers.

_Oh._ Venril felt a way of disgust as he remembered why they seemed to healthy. While Bellona, Birch and Matukhana kept their guards up and continued watching the group, Venril began to look around. Something wasn't right here. The Srecchrrl weren't doing anything at all. Venril remembered how they had used the fire as a distraction before.

The stoat chanced a glance back towards the exit. His eyes widened as he saw that several Srecchrrl had gathered over or near the tunnel. And these ones had spears.

"GET DOWN!" the stoat shouted. the fighters among the group instinctively complied. Liza was slower to respond, but Venril yanked her down as he ducked. Medjool did nothing at all, merely standing there, but he was not the main target. The small volley of spears flew over the groups heads or landed amongst them.

All at once all of the Srecchrrl in the cave began chittering loudly as more of the beasts began to block the exit.

Bellona hastily moved all three of them over so that their backs were to a rock column that afforded them some cover against the now constant stream of spears being thrown from near the entrances. The spear throwing tapered off as the Srecchrl in front of them began to move forward.

Bellona looked at the others. "They've cut off our escape. I see another tunnel across the cavern, but I'm not sure where it goes."

Venril spoke up. "Well, we know they have some means of getting to the Fritterik to attack them. Maybe if we get far enough into the tunnels we can get to where the Fritterik live."

"But what if we get lost? Those tunnels could go on forever!" Liza objected.

Matukhana gripped his blade tighter. "Well, less'n ye got another way, guess this'll have to do."

The surfacedwellers suddenly broke cover and dashed towards the group of Srecchrrl approaching them, blades swinging. They cut down several, and managed to break through the group. Venril wished he still had his chainmail as a stone spear came perilously close to him, but quickly changed his mind as the group ran across the cavern.

Birch did not have time to light another torch, and Matukhana had apparently lost his during the fighting, so they ran in the dark. Finally, they chanced stopping and lighting another one of Birch's torches.

"What happened? Did we lose them? Liza asked."

Venril frowned, a disturbing thought donning on him. "No...they're not attacking us because they don't have to. Not right now, anyways. We're lost in the dark without any real supplies. They don't need to fight us fairly. They just need to wait for us to get separated or weaken, and then pick us off one by one."

They were trapped.


	72. Now I Feel Like I'm The Flower

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 72. Now I Feel Like I'm The Flower..  
**  
_by Revel_

Revel twisted her paw around inside her cheek. Apart from the two she had dug out and spat into the washbasin, the rest of her teeth seemed lodged in fairly well. She dried her paw on her skirt and studied her face in the pinkish water.

"Bruises aren't pretty," she said, pouting. "Why can't I get scars? He _likes_ scars."

Zhipzi chittered. Once more, the weasel was working on Revel's dress top, repairing the rend that Nivard had made.

"Scars ihn pretty-prets," she said. "Rivvil dress pretty! Rivvil fur pretty! Chafvik? _Frbblt_!" The noise Zhipzi made by blowing into her paw pad set both females giggling anew.

Revel smoothed her paws down her bare sides and front, wincing a little as she pressed on her chest, where the white fur only barely covered up the purple skin. She rubbed at the back of her neck, which still stung somewhat, although scabs were beginning to form.

Not all was wrong with her new look. It was simply glorious, being skinny again! Well, somewhat skinny. Her figure had never been great to begin with, and she would never be as thin as Eliza or Zhipzi, but to have no weight on her back, to have nothing blocking her view of her own footpaws! Wouldn't Venril be pleased, if he saw her properly, with her dress?

The stoat sighed then. The trade-off for not being bloated was not altogether a pleasant one. Her kits had seen fit to slobber all over her front, and now there were these... _things_ poking out of her fur. They'd always been there before, of course. Just not quite like this...

The kits were sleeping yet again. They did not seem to do much else, except eat. And squeal, and writhe, and be very, very pink. They were like fat little mini-Revel worms.

She liked them like this.

"Finish!" Zhipzi cried.

Weasel and stoat danced triumphantly around the hut, swirling their dresses around - Zhipzi had taken her late Vakka-shin's meager clothes and added them onto her own ensemble. Revel jokingly threw on Keane's coat, and darted around, letting the tails flap about behind her. They collapsed in a heap on top of each-other, giggling and snickering madly at all their fashion antics, and Zhipzi belched magnificently.

"Sun," the weasel sighed happily, rolling over into the sunbeam coming through the door. "Big fire is nice warm."

"'m gonna take you 'ome with me," Revel said. "An' show you th'forests an' cornfields an' rivers. Real grass!"

"Where is Rivvil home?"

Revel sat up, frowning.

"Chivvers, I don' know. Far away from 'ere. Across a big lake, I think. An' there was this place called a town that was very nice with big cottages, an' grog. But 's not a forest. I wanna live in th'forest, in a cave under a tree, where woodlanders can't find it. Th'sun would shine into it in th'mornin', an' at evenin' there'd be a nice big shadow so you almost can't find it again. An' I'd find somebeast nice, like Venril. He protects me an' he'd kill woodlanders for me an' th'kits."

"Ihn Nivard?"

Revel's face darkened. "I don't like Nivard."

"Join th'club," a searat scowled, stepping into the sunlight that Zhipzi dozed in. A second, ferret-shaped shadow loomed. The rat kicked out at the weasel, though she rolled away in time. "But first, get up an' get out o' here. We're takin' this hut down now."

"No!" Revel said, standing up. The shovel appeared in her paws, swinging at the searat's face. His companion stepped in just in time, catching the haft just below the blade, and yanked it from Revel's paws. He threw it aside with a grunt.

"None of that now," he said, his voice wheezing somewhat. The ferret unloosed a length of chain from his belt. "Don't think we've forgotten about ye, stoat. Ye belong on the slave line! Pah! What's left of it... Which I guess would be just ye two, hah! Haah, gak!"

He spat blood onto the wall and coughed once or twice more before straightening up and nodding to his companion.

The searat grabbed Zhipzi, spinning her around to face him, and the ferret came up from behind, hooking the chain over the weasel's throat and tightening it. Zhipzi's protests were cut off along with her ability to breathe.

There was nothing Revel could do. The rat had drawn his rapier, and the rest of the tools had been moved outside the hut to make more room. All she had was her knife, which was not going to help against the range of a rapier. Zhipzi was on her own. Revel had to protect her own interests.

Scooping up one of the kits, she held it firmly in her jaws. One in one paw, one in the other - that left two. She would have to leave them - no! She would bring them all away to safety. Little Rath, and Sullen (it was a nice name, even if a woodlander's before), and Pinky, and Yikker-Vivkichip, and Zubble; the last two of which Zhipzi had named. She would save them all. But... how?

Revel found herself doing what came naturally. Sneaking into mole tunnels and swiping sweet buns had trained her well in the art of emptying her paws in order to grab more. Keane's coat was rife with pockets; nice big ones, and soft inside, if a little odd-smelling. Revel found she could fit two kits each in the uppermost pockets on either side. Remembering how violently the coat swished, she decided not to put the fifth in any of the lower pockets, instead letting it fall gently out of her mouth into her paws.

The rat just stood there, letting her gather them. In this, at least, he seemed understanding.

"Nuh-uh," he said, as she moved to pick up her knife from the washbasin. "No trouble, stoat. Just get yer whelp an' come out. We'll play nice if'n ye do."

Revel eyed Zhipzi. The weasel was standing on tip-paws, clutching at the chain around her neck. The ferret was holding her tight, but now allowing her to breath; her eyes were no longer trying to pop out of her head.

"Rivvilrun?" she wheezed.

Revel shook her head. Being a slave hadn't been _so_ bad. She hadn't had to fight any, and it had been peaceful for the most part. Really, the worst of it had been being locked up alone with Eliza when Rath was off-duty. And the horrid food. And being sent to sit in a ditch. And the horrid food.

"Where are you takin' us?"

"Dunno. Dun care. Throw ye in a ditch, or send ye to th'coast to work on the ship. Cap'n Matty'll decide, or - no, 'e's gone. Nivard'll decide, if we can find 'im. Or Kirby. He's as good a leader as any..."

The ferret began marching Zhipzi off. The rat prodded Revel ahead of him. Clutching what she presumed was little Zubble to her chest, she turned about and snarled.

"I'll walk - keep your sword away or I'll bite your face off!"

It was strange, the feeling of her kits in the coat pockets. They squirmed about, grunting as they searched for their meal; so close, and yet impossible to get to. Every once in a while, she could have sworn she heard one sneeze.

"Oi, see that?" the ferret said, pointing to a lump of sand just barely hidden by the amaranth. "Kinda looks like somebeast's... hhk! Head."

They stopped as the searat began to poke about the tall grass with his rapier. There was indeed something firm, for the most part. Judging by the way the sandy thing squelched, parts of it were not so firm at all.

Revel caught sight of something wooden in the sand a little ways off. It looked not unlike the handle of something...

"Great Gabool's beard, it's Nivard!" the rat cried. Revel would have laughed at the news, if she hadn't stuffed her kit back in her mouth in order to pull Birch's hammer out of the sand.

Unwilling to let go of his captive and unable to push them both aside in time, the ferret could only try to swing his head out of the way as the hammer flew towards his face. Revel's aim wasn't good at all, but the ferret hadn't had time to realize this. In trying to dodge, he had instead put himself in the path of the weapon. His nose caved in with a sickening crunch.

Zhipzi yanked the chain out of his paws and fetched the hammer, striking out with both of them at the still-horrified searat. He went down with a scream, tripping over Nivard's intestines in his attempt to back away.

The weaselmaid stopped, staring wide-eyed at what she'd just done. She dropped the chain and hammer, and turned to Revel.

"Rivvil run _now_?" she pleaded.

"Mmff," Revel agreed, pausing only to grab Birch's hammer again. It was small enough to be a good weapon without being too ungainly and dangerous to carry while moving quickly with her load. She tucked it into her belt, though it made it feel like her skirt was going to slip off.

The rat and ferret were laid out for the time being, and the two females kept their pace steady. Zhipzi's plan was to head back to the caves, and Revel found herself agreeing. The food was serviceable, and if it was safe enough for Zhipzi to raise her litter, it was safe enough for Revel's. The problem was sneaking around the vermin and woodlander camps, making their way around the edge of the oasis waters, and actually getting into the caves. From there, it was just a matter of finding the right route up to the Picture Mountain, and Zhipzi could lead from there.

It was an hour or two past sunset that they found their chance to slip through behind the roaring falls. Revel kept Zubble safely in her jaws, so as to use both paws for feeling the jagged walls in the darkness.

At one point, Revel could have sworn she heard Baez's voice. Zhipzi tugged her on further, whispering the events of the past two days. That cave was not where they wanted to go, being filled with more outsider vermin, many of whom were sick. They went further, although Zhipzi stole a torch to help guide the way.

They had not yet reached Picture Mountain, however, before they came across another group of beasts. Unlike most of the Fritterik, who did their best to maintain some semblance of decency, these were all stark naked but for their fur. A few bigger ones had crummy spears and strange patterns painted into their fur.

Revel popped her kit out of her mouth and said, "Hallo?"

A tiny fox, no doubt little more than a kit himself, scampered towards her, so quick that if Revel blinked, she would have missed him. He grabbed onto her arm and hauled himself up, jaws snapping at Zubble, missing by mere whisker-breadths. The sheer ferocity and speed of the attack baffled Revel into inaction. She could only stand there for the moment, and glance with mild surprise down at her pint-sized molester.

Zhipzi was a little more on the ball. Screaming "Pratcha chafa!", the weasel took a running leap and jammed the fiery end of the torch into the fox's face. This sent the rest of the group into a frenzy.

Revel went down, two ferrets circling around and tackling her from behind, forcing her to all fours. Zhipzi darted beneath her, snatching Zubble away.

"Rivvil! Screchrrl Mivik! _Run!_"

Strong fangs indeed - Revel felt them all over, biting into her tail and legs and arms, even her neck again. She could barely breathe through the pain, and there was no way to see where Zhipzi had gone. Everything was a mess of fur and muscles and teeth. All she could do was sweep the coat pockets beneath her, protecting the contents with her body, and do her best not to lose strength and collapse on them herself.

Zhipzi paused briefly to look back. The weasel's eyes twinkled in the dying torchlight as she lifted the stoat kit to her mouth and kissed its head softly, before vanishing into the blackness.

* * * * * *

Revel awoke aching. She tried to move her paws - rusty chains clacked. She was bound, forepaws behind her back, footpaws and tail tied all three together.

But she was laying on Keane's coat, which was spread out beneath her like a picnic blanket, and her dress top rippled to the sound of contented snorts. She could feel four of them. One was missing.

"Aw, there, there. No need to cry. You're safe, aren't you? Mm?"

It was hard to get a good picture of the chamber she was in, though it seemed well lit. Craning her neck around, she could see a pine marten - definitely a pine marten - lounging on a throne carved from rock. Pelts cushioned every inch of it, and more of them made up the marten's tunic.

"L...Eliza?" Revel asked hopefully.

"Oh? Is that your name? How charming. Mine is Adriak. And I'll tell you now - I'm a right li'l son of a mother." The pine marten grinned.

Revel could see it. She could see what Venril had talked about. He was _handsome_, from his perfectly pointy snout, to his cream-yellow bib, his bright brown eyes, his perked ears, his long, fluffy tail wrapped about his shoulders - everything about him was the perfect shade, the perfect _shape_. He was adorable, and wonderful, and that grin... She could feel her soul melt.

Pine martens were beautiful.

But wicky-chivvers, did he _stink_!

Adriak had stood up, and came over to her, bending down in front of her to stroke the back of her head. She wrinkled her nose.

And his tunic - it wasn't like Nivard's kilt. It wasn't made of woodlander pelts. She could quite clearly see a ferret's face mask, complete with the eyes and mouth stitched shut, across his right shoulder.

"You poor thing... it must be hard, being a mother in this place. So terribly hard. Especially when I can just reach out..." He touched one of the wriggling lumps beneath her dress. "And squeeze... and you can't do a thing to stop me."

Revel bit him. Her teeth sunk into his arm, drawing blood. Adriak simply reached over with his other paw and pried her jaws apart. He looked about as annoyed as if she had tread mud all over a carpet.

"Bad stoat. Bad Eliza. Bad." He smiled at her again and stepped back, patting at his bleeding arm. "I'll have you know, I would never harm a kit. I love kits! I've raised a few of my own. In fact, I'd like to help raise yours. Anything they need, I will provide. Food, warmth, education. How does that sound?"

Revel spat at his face.

"Funny, isn't it, that the little Fritterik are more civilized than you've been so far? Ask them for their offspring and it's, 'Yikyikyik, lotsa food, here, take them all!' So tamable! Not you, though, my pretty little piebald menace. Tell me - is winter coming or going? Nevermind, I'll just - "

"Ow!"

"That got a word out of you, eh, Eliza?" Adriak chuckled and sifted through the clump of fur in his paw. "Looks like you're shedding brown. That's nice. I could use a new coat. Oh, don't give me that look! No, I'm not going to kill you, Eliza. That would just be brutish, wouldn't it? And then I'd have to deal with finding somebeast to feed these ugly spawn of yours... You're quite safe with me, my dear! Quite safe. A few more weeks, I think? Always wanted an ermine vest..."

A vixen strode into view, herself wearing a fine display of hides.

"Adriak. There's more - " She paused upon seeing Revel, then looked back at the marten. "More outsiders."

"Deal with them, then, love," Adriak said, skulking back to his throne. "I'm busy with my new friend. She's quite the conversationalist. Aren't you, Eliza?"

"You smell 'orrid," Revel moaned, burying her nose into her chest.

"You're one to talk... Oh, _fine._" Adriak whirled about and tugged the vixen into his arms, with all the grace and style of a prince catching a falling princess. "Well? More outsiders? What shall we do with them, love?"

"Kill them?" she suggested. The pine marten grinned. They kissed, briefly.

"I love the way you think! Oh." He spun about to face Revel, drawing something out of his belt to show her. "By the way. I like your hammer. I think I'll use it to break the skulls of whoever's coming to save you!"

"You're such a charmer," the vixen murmured, as they left the chamber.

Revel curled up and began to clean her kits as best as she could get her muzzle down her dress top.


	73. KIA

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 73. KIA**  
_by Venril_

Although tired and lost, the group that had descended into the caves continued to try to put distance between themselves and the quartz cave full of Srecchrrl. Their situation was beginning to become increasingly urgent, as Bellona and Matukhana rapidly depleted their supplies of torches. Eventually, the decision was made to keep only one torch lit at a time, but even with that level of rationing the situation was growing progressively more serious.

"We're not going to be able to keep going much longer like this." Bellona was the first one to state the obvious.

"No, we're not," Venril agreed. "And it doesn't look like we're getting very close to the Fritterik caves."

"Even if we were, what would we really do? Even if we got out of the caves, the time it would take us to mass forces for a full assault on the Srecchrrl would mean that a lot of the infected beasts would likely die —or worse— in the time that would take," Bellona replied.

"So what, that's it? We've failed to get the mushrooms? What happens when the disease begins to spread? What do we do now?" Venril demanded.

"If ye'd stop nattering for a few minutes an' think, mebbe we could solve this!" Matukhana growled at the stoat.

Venril sighed, feeling rather out of place. This had been a stupid idea, coming along with this mission. He wasn't a clever, innovative beast like Bellona, or even Liza, and he wasn't intimidating or powerful like Matukhana. The stoat had lucked into a few small victories, more through chance than merit, and he had foolishly allowed that to go to his head.

While Bellona and Matukhana continued to debate their options, Venril looked across at Liza. The marteness looked like she also felt a little bit out of place here. But that didn't seem to make her want to talk to Venril. It occurred to the stoat that he actually knew very little about Liza. He had a vague idea of where she was from, and that she had been an upper-class female of some kind, but in all honesty he was beginning to feel like the more time he spent around her, the less he understood.

"Liza?"

"What?" The marteness wasn't as snappish as she had been earlier. Instead, she just seemed tired and dispirited.

Whatever it was he had wanted to say, he just couldn't seem to put into any sort of organized form. So instead Venril asked, "Do you think we'll get out of here safely?"

Liza opened her mouth to respond, but was pre-empted by Bellona.

"I think the only thing to do is to go back and try again to get the mushrooms," the dormouse said.

"How? Won't they be expecting us?" Venril asked.

"No, they'll be spreading out to try to hunt us down in the tunnels. I don't think they'll anticipate us suddenly turning around and attacking them on ground we'd already given up on. Two of us could gather up the mushrooms while the rest go in and try to hold off and distract the Srecchrrl. It wouldn't take that long to gather up the mushrooms, and once we have those we can just head straight for the point where we came into the caves."

"Isn't that a little risky?" Liza asked, her expression dubious.

"Well, do you have an alternative plan? I don't see what else running around in the tunnels getting lost is going to do. We have limited light left, and once that's gone the Srecchrrl will have a massive advantage," Bellona countered.

Venril sighed. "It's not a great plan…but I don't see much choice."

The group was able to make much better time on the way back to the quartz cave. Along the way, it was agreed that Liza and Medjool would gather the mushrooms while the rest would try to hold off the Srecchrrl.

They were close enough to the cave to see light coming in when they suddenly encountered a pair of musteline Srecchrrl, who started at their sudden appearance and tried to run. Venril put his saber through the back of the first one before his adversary even had time to fully process the threat. Matukhana managed to catch the second just before the entrance to the quartz cave, and began hacking away at it with his scimitar, but not before the dying beast was able to scream a warning that would have been clearly audible in the cave.

Immediately, there was a flurry of activity within the quartz cave. True to Bellona's prediction, it seemed that they had not been on full alert. There were unarmed beasts, and even, shockingly, Srecchrrl kits, something Venril had not even thought existed. They looked surprisingly normal, ambling about in the few moments left before their parents snatched them up and began to run as armed Srecchrrl began readying to fight off the invaders.

The questors rushed towards the mushrooms in a mob, rapidly dispersing. Liza and Medjool went for the mushrooms as Venril, Matukhana, Bellona, and Bellona's woodlanders spread out in all directions, attacking the surprised Srecchrrl.

Venril snarled as he slashed a Srecchrl's crude spear in half, and then sliced the creature's neck open with another slash. That was about as long as the element of surprise lasted before the rest of the Srecchrrl near Venril began to struggle more to avoid their questing spearpoints. He parried a spear thrust, then swung at the Srecchrrl's head, only to miss as the ferret ducked under his sword. Another Srecchrrl, a weasel, thrust from the side, and scored Venril across the back, drawing blood. It was the first time the stoat had spilled blood in battle, and it was a feeling he was completely unprepared for. Wheeling on the weasel that had bloodied him, Venril redoubled his attack, slicing through the mustelid's guard and slashing him once, twice, thrice. This feeling of revenge only lasted a second, though, as he was unable to restore his guard to prevent the ferret from putting his spear through Venril's thigh.

The stoat went down hard. He managed to bat the ferret's second thrust away, but by now other Srecchrrl had seen the stoat fall. Several of them disengaged or stopped running towards the others, and headed towards Venril, concentrating their attacks on him. The stoat made a decent show of it, given his lack of experience, but within moments a spear had gone through his lower back, and then another through his side.

Venril collapsed to the ground, blood flowing freely, and was only dimly aware of several more stab wounds inflicted on his dying body. The whole world seemed to be fading away, and Venril felt himself being gently pulled away, to somewhere just over the horrizon and out of sight. He let himself go freely. _Wherever it is, it'll be better than here._ The stoat just felt confident of that.

It was a comforting thing to be thinking as he died.

end of week six.


	74. If I Had a Hammer

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

start of week seven.

**Chapter 74. If I Had a Hammer**  
_by Bellona_

_"Nowhere to look, but inside  
where we all respond to  
pressure!"_

"Nona! Birch! Rugger! Fox! To me!" Bell hollered as the Srechrrl began to close in on all sides. She'd seen Venril fall -- not unexpected, but still inconvenient -- and now nobeast defended their right side. Curse his incompetence.

_Thrust up and left. Pull right._ A weasel cried piteously as he fell to the ground, a diagonal slash pouring blood across his upper torso. _Take the shaft hit, pull, and duck under, then slice up._ Bell liberated a ferret's paw from its owner and sent sailing through the air, still gripping his spear. He shrieked and back pedaled, flailing wildly at his comrades and causing three to trip and fall back in a heap.

The dormouse was about to rush forward and start attacking the others further on when she recalled the situation. She swore. This sort of fighting was not Bell's specialty. She liked to be able to move through the enemy ranks and cause chaos, not have to defend one position -- not that it would matter much at this point. She saw no real escape for the ever-dwindling search party; could only hope that Medjool was more honorable than Eliza and managed to get the mushrooms to the surface.

Cutting open a rat's face, the warrior chanced a look behind and saw, to her chagrin, that it was only the marten stuffing mushrooms into a bag. The lizard had vanished.

_Cowardly blackguard!_

Bell redoubled her efforts, stabbing a ferret in the stomach and twisting her dirk mercilessly before kicking him off and back into the mob. She was going to die here -- die defending a marten that she hated, a fox that she loathed, and three creatures that she had known for less than a fortnight. The latter three, were, of course, less pathetic to die for, but Eliza and Matukhana? It made her fur crawl to think of it.

"Iyi!" A voice rose above the growls, clicks, and screams. "Srechrrl! Arreck!"

The vermin, quite abruptly, froze in place. Bell took the opportunity to gut a weasel who had managed to skin part of her shoulder with his axe. He fell, but no others moved to avenge him.

"Well, well, well!" the same voice, now comprehensible, sounded from above and to the left. Bell, Matukhana, Rugger, Nona, and Birch looked over. Eliza had the good sense to continue collecting whatever mushrooms she could get her filthy claws on. "I didn't expect such a diverse group to come looking for her..." A pine marten stood on one of the ledges scattered throughout the cavern. He was clad in the furs of other creatures. Beside him stood a vixen, dressed as his equal.

"The slavers, I presume?" Bell intoned as the marten was opening his maw once more.

"Our reputations precede us, love," he grinned at his female companion and descended from the ledge with a graceful leap. The Srechrrl scattered to make room for him and pulled away with an almost pious reverence as he approached the spot where Venril's corpse lay. He nudged the stoat's body with a footclaw and managed to turn it over. Venril's head lolled to one side while the contents of his stomach spilled out and slicked the stone. One of his arms had gone missing during the battle.

"Blast. This simply won't do." The marten whirled on the Srechrrl who all fell back. "Ri skweck vikvi? Chakan!" Nobeast spoke, so Bell decided to.

"Look, marten, we just want to–"

"Yes, yes." He waved a paw dismissively, curling a lip into a sneer. "I know what you want and I just came to tell you that she'll be perfectly fine. I'll be taking care of Eliza and her kits from now on, so you needn't worry your little heads in Dark Forest over her condition."

"_What_?" Eliza had stopped being sensible and now stood, glaring at the male marten. "You are _not_ taking care of me and I most certainly _do not_ have kits!"

The male blinked a few times. "_You're_ Eliza?"

"Of course, I am, Furball! Eliza Lacrimosa." She flicked her tail and raised her chin.

"Yes, an' we're very proud o' 'er," Matukhana interjected, grimacing in pain. "Now why don' ye tell us wha' yer blabbin' on about, cully."

"Kelly," the marten called, looking back and forth between Matukhana and Eliza, "I do believe I've found our mirror doubles. Only... it seems they've been thrice whacked with a stick of hideousness."

"Hah! I see what you mean, Adriak," Kelly descended from the ledge in much the same way as her partner and approached. "Oh, but see how they have matching scars on their faces. Isn't that romantic?"

Bell could see the retort forming in Eliza's mouth as her chest puffed out and her tail bristled. "We're not here to save anyone named Eliza, we just want the mushrooms," the dormouse preempted the loathsome marten.

Adriak quirked an eyebrow. "You came to this cavern not once, but twice for the sake of a bit of soup?" He snorted.

"No." Bell bared her teeth at the smug blackguard. If he took any notice of her hostility, he gave no indication. "We came to find the cure to the plague those cursed Fritterik gave us."

"You've all caught the plague?" Kelly asked, curious.

"Aye. An' we're tryin' t'be rid o' it, Scrubrush," Nona rejoined. "S'leave us alone an' we'll catch the next wind blowin' outta here."

"Interesting," Adriak commented, and then snapped his claws.

"Look ou–!" A spear connected with Bell's head before she could finish her warning.

= ~ = ~ =

_Dirk._ Bell's first thought upon awakening as she reached a paw down to her side. Unfortunately, the weapon was gone, along with her knife. The dormouse groaned and opened her eyes. She saw that she was in some sort of mini-cave that had only one entrance with a weasel Srechrrl standing guard. He glared at Bell, but did not move to attack when the dormouse raised herself to her footclaws.

_Captured with an angry, unintelligible vermin... lovely._

"Funny-lookin' mouse."

_Talking of trouble..._

"Ugly-looking stoat."

Of all the creatures she had expected to wake in a room with underground, Revel was not one of them. In fact, what was the stoat even doing here? Bell looked around until she saw the vermin huddled in one corner, paws bound, coat laid out beneath her, and dress squirming -- doubtlessly filled with her sightless, pink spawn.

Just as Bell was about to inquire as to how Revel had been captured and if she had any weapons on her -- slim chance though that might be -- the stoat began talking.

"D'you remember what you said to Venril, about 'im knowin' where kits come from?" Revel asked.

"Yes." Bell mentally added 'oblivious to more pressing matters' to her list of Revel descriptors.

"They came from inside me," the stoat whispered slowly.

"...Yes."

"But 'ow did they get _there_?" She sounded genuinely confused. "It's like... I didn't eat no stoat eggs or nothin', so they didn't 'atch inside me an' them come out..."

"You..." It was a bit horrifying, a creature like this giving birth. "You really don't know, do you?"

Shaking her head, Revel said, "I was gonna ask Venril but I didn' see 'im get brought in." She motioned toward the mini-cave entrance that looked out onto a larger room with some sort of carved throne in the middle.

Bell fell quiet for a moment, thinking. She didn't particularly like Revel or feel any sort of obligation to inform her of the 'facts of life'. However, having a creature so painfully ignorant -- the dormouse shook her head.

"Stoat, I don't know why your mum never told you this, but there're certain things we all learn when we're old enough..." She spoke slowly, plainly, and Revel's expression grew more and more horrified with each passing word.

"I'm gonna kill Nivard!" the stoat's outraged cry cut off the dormouse's awkward explanation halfway through. "'Cept 'e's already dead! Oooh, I'm gonna kill Venril, then! I knew I shouldn'ta hugged 'im! It's all 'is fault, they came out right after that!"

"That's..." Bell held up a paw to stop the idiotic vermin. "That's not how... It doesn't work like–"

"An' then I'm gonna kill... whoever touches me next! No, no, I won't let 'em touch me. That's so... so... so _stupid_! Males are so stupid! They shouldn't be allowed t'do that t'me!"

The stoat kicked her bound footpaws angrily.

"But where do kits come from inside _them_? H'come _I'm_ th'one who gets fat? If th'kits come from them, why aren't..." Revel stopped, eyes staring wide. "Oohh. That's h'come I never seen any female ferrets around Kirby!"

Before Bell could even begin to form a response to this lunacy, the guard barked, "Chakan ihnin!" Revel fell into a seething silence and the weasel came forward, warding the dormouse off with his spear and reaching for the stoat's chains with his free paw. Bell briefly considered grabbing the spear and using it to brain him while he was preoccupied with Revel -- she kept trying to bite him as he unlocked her manacles. Glancing out into the larger cavern dismissed the tactic from her mind, though. Several other Srechrrl guards had emerged from additional mini-cave recesses, bringing with them her fellow prisoners. If she had had her dirk, she might have chanced it, but she was only a dab-paw with a spear. They'd kill her long before she had a chance to free the others and run... somewhere else.

The guard finally succeeded in freeing Revel and pulling her to her footpaws. The stoat snarled, "Don' touch me!" at him and grabbed at her stomach to hold the squirming mass beneath her clothing in place. She picked up her coat, put it on, then began pulling kits from under her dress and stuffing them into the pockets. The weasel pointed out to the larger room with his spear.

"Shrip go," he commanded.

Bell strode out, taking in the new environment while the Srechrrl poked along a reluctant Revel. This new place had many entrances and exits, though she suspected most were just recessed chambers like the one she and the stoat had been held in. Eying the throne, Bell moved toward it to get a better look, but a paw grabbed her before she could get very far.

It was Adriak. He dug his claws into her wounded shoulder, but Bell refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. She spat in his face and he smiled before releasing her shoulder and back-pawing her.

"Vex me not, my dear," he said, moving past her and seating himself atop the furs piled on the throne, "or I shall have your most peculiar tail sooner rather than later." Bell picked herself up from where she had fallen and retreated to Birch and Rugger.

"Weapons?" she muttered. Both creatures shook their heads. A few moments later, Eliza and Matukhana were shoved forward to stand with them while Revel sulked behind.

"So, here we all are," Adriak began.

"Where's Nona?" Bell demanded. The otter was only conspicuous in her absence.

"Hmm?" Adriak hummed, smirking. "Would that be your little otter friend? Where is that delicious riverdog, then, love?" He looked past the search party and Bell followed his gaze to the vixen.

"Oh, I thought I could use a new skirt," she replied blithely. "After all, you're getting your ermine vest soon. It only seemed fair. And I thought we could celebrate our guests with an extra special meal tonight."

_Blackguards!_ Bell's hackles rose at the implication. Nona had been slaughtered for her fur and flesh. What kind of sick, twisted creatures were they dealing with here?

"Of course, of course." The marten licked his lips. "Now, there's the matter of these mushrooms–"

"Oi!" Birch's cry set the dormouse's senses tingling as she prepared to fight. "That's _my_ hammer!" The squirrel pointed accusingly at a stolen tool on Adriak's belt. She tried to rush forward, but two Srechrrl guards held her, then a third joined them when that wasn't enough, followed by a fourth and fifth so that all of the squirrel's writhing limbs were pinned to the ground.

"Quite a bit of spirit in that one," the marten commented, nodding his approval. "But enough of that for the moment. Now, tell me who the leader of your little band is so we can have a chat about where things are to go from here."

"I am," two voices rose in unison. Bell shot Matukhana a poisonous glare. He refused to look away. So, she did what came naturally: she attacked the split-faced, scraggly-brushed Chickenhound.

Bell leapt at the Matukhana, clinging to his side and using her sharp claws to score his festering face anew. The dogfox howled in agony and managed to throw her off; the dormouse was ready. On the ground, she swept a leg around, catching corsair's footpaws and causing him to trip and fall. Bell used the second it took for the vulpine to right himself to climb onto his back and begin scratching at his face again.

"Enough!" Adriak cried and the dormouse felt herself hauled off and away from Matukhana before she could gouge his eyes out. The captain remained on the ground a moment, and then managed to pull himself up, shaking with pain and, presumably, anger.

"I make the decisions," Bell informed the grinning marten. She felt her blood pumping hot in her veins, but kept her tone neutral. Matukhana did not object this time.

"Quite right!" Adriak sounded as if he were about to start giggling at any moment. "Then I should love to hear your decision on this matter: I have decided that the Srechrrl need a fuller cultural education about their master's world. I used to attend the gladiatorial matches in Southsward when I was procuring new stocks for the slavelines. Ah! Those were the days with the likes of Kerriden the Mace, Brikal the Seastorm, and Rath the Whirlwind. I sorely miss them. But, you know, my favorite matches were the free-for-all fights where the winner was the one beast left standing after five or six had entered the ring. Hah! What a thrill!

"I should enjoy watching such a fight again," he continued. "So, you have two options, darling: one, fight such a free-for-all with the winner gaining the mushrooms Kelly and I used to cure our sickness and free passage out of our territory, or two, refuse and die right here, right now. Of course, I expect you little woodlanders to fight and kill each other, as well. No team spirit here."

"We'll fight," Bell decided immediately. It was a simple choice and everybeast knew it. A mock battle bought them more time to think of a way out of this situation... and it also provided ample opportunity to dispatch some of the more troublesome members of their search party. "Will we have weapons?"

"I. Want. My. _Hammer_!" Birch snarled, then coughed.

"I'll think about that..." Adriak grinned, twirling the blacksmith's favored tool and weapon in one paw.


	75. Fate Lays In The Hands That Clap

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 75. Fate Lays In The Hands That Clap..  
**_by Eliza_

Eliza huddled in the darkness, unable to sleep. She didn't know that she _wanted_ to. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Venril.

_Fates, but I wish you were still here, Venril. You were an idiot, but you meant well, really you did, and I'd give anything to have you here. I wish you were here to hug me again, and to promise that everything's going to be okay, and we're going to get out of here, and it'll all turn out right in the end. It wouldn't be true, and I know that, but it would be nice to believe that it was, even if it was just for a little while._

But Venril wasn't here, and things weren't going to be okay. Venril was dead, and she hadn't even gotten a chance to say _good-bye_.

After tossing her and Matukhana into this cramped little cave, Adriak and his harlot had facetiously wished sweet dreams upon them both, and opined that they'd _really_ be better off getting some rest, because tomorrow was going to be a _big day_. Then they had laughed nastily, while some brutish Sretch-things had pushed a stone across the entrance, sealing off all but a sliver of faint orange light.

By the dull glow, Eliza reached into her bodice and fished out a mushroom. She twirled it about.

_Curious. Such a fragile, delicate thing, yet it holds such commanding power over life and death._ She ran a clawtip along the underside of the cap, ruffling the little white gills. They felt for all the world like the folds of an elegant nightgown.

She _could_ have eaten the mushrooms back in the caves. Could have cured herself of the plague, and reveled in that assurance. But she hadn't _thought_ to, and it didn't matter, not any more. The stupid plague was nothing compared to the kinds of tortures that the old hedgehog had alluded to. Tortures that promised to make up a very large portion of a very short future.

She could eat this one, give herself at _least_ that last little vestige of control before everything went black.

_Perhaps..._

"Holdin' out on yer Cap'n, eh? I shoulda known ye'd try t'pocket th'cure f'r y'self."

Eliza froze. She could have _sworn_ Matukhana was asleep. "No, I..." she started to say, and faltered. _What's the use?_

Portions of the blackness warped together into a vulpine silhouette. It held out an expectant paw. "Give it 'ere."

Wordlessly, she extended the mushroom. It was plucked from her grasp. Slow, deliberate chewing sounds floated through the darkness... a faint gulp.

"Now, th'rest'f 'em," he rasped.

"There aren't any more. I only had the one."

Eliza gasped as an unseen paw crushed her windpipe. Her footpaws scrabbled in the gloom as she struggled for breath.

"Y'sure about that, wench? Think 'ard."

"Alright," she gurgled. "Alright, I'll gi'm to you."

The pine marten dug a trembling paw into her bodice, and produced a small clump of green and white.

Matukhana snatched it greedily.

"Good. There's a clev'r lass."

_Not particulary, as it turns out,_ Eliza grimaced to herself as Matukhana devoured the mushrooms. _Sometimes it's just dumb luck._

During Adriak's pompous introductions, she'd crammed a few more futile pawfuls of fungus into the sack, just for the look of it. Then, while everybeast's attention focused on the other pine marten, she'd spotted the opportunity, and snatched a few mushrooms for herself.

They'd patted everybeast down, snatching away anything that looked like it could be utilized as a weapon. Matukhana lost a pair of wicked curved blades, and the bratty squirrel had to relinquish a dagger. A search of the prone dormouse turned up a short knife, belted to her leg. The molesting paws had moved onto Eliza next. After forcing her to hitch her skirt _unnecessarily_ high, spidery claws had crawled up and down her sides, and pronounced her harmless. They moved on to the mole.

Her heart didn't regain normal rhythm until they confiscated the mole's flint knife, and a similar blade from the otter. Incredibly, they had missed the mushrooms. As they were led away, Eliza kept her breathing even and slow, and tried not to even _think_ about the cloth-wrapped dagger nestled within her upper sleeve.

It was amazing what a dress could hide.

===

Adriak had chosen an old quarry to serve as their arena. The stone pit, roughly the same size as a large ballroom, didn't offer much in the way of cover. A few lumpy mounds of rock jutted up from the floor, but that was about it. _That's probably why he chose it,_ she'd thought. _If there's nowhere to hide, there's no option but to fight._

Eliza glared at Adriak. _What a preening dandy. He's even got thrones set up for himself and Lady Harlot to sit upon and preen while we get slaughtered._

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid I shan't be able to provide you with weapons, after all." Adriak's tones took on an insipid, mocking lilt. "As much as the spectacle may suffer for it, I just can't see any sense in arming the condemned. But, never fear, I'm quite sure you will be able to provide enough entertainment without them."

_Good. No weapons for the others means that they won't be expecting me to have one, either._

"How do you expect us to fight without weapons?" the squirrel demanded, eying her hammer.

"There are plenty of stones scattered about," purred Lady Harlot, the embodiment of loathe at first sight. "And in a pinch, bare paws should suffice."

Adriak clapped brusquely at his primal brigade, and Eliza found herself escorted to the crumbling rim of the pit.

"Let the fight commence!"

Somebeast shoved her, and Eliza plunged into the quarry. She hit the stone with a smack, and pain lanced up her leg. Gritting her teeth, the pine marten stumbled to her footpaws and looked around. No sign of the others. Eliza made her way to the rear of the pit, where the torchlight ended and the shadows began.

She scanned the walls briefly. A wan smile teased at her lips. Fortuitously, whoever had excavated this pit here hadn't cared a wit for aesthetics. There were crags and gouges everywhere, where chunks of rock had been hewn away. Eliza pressed herself into the darkness beneath a rock ledge, trying to keep perfectly still.

_Inhale._ Beat. _Exhale._ Beat. _Repeat, as many times as possible. Don't make a sound, or the woodlanders will hear you. And if the woodlanders find you, they'll kill you. So you'd_ better _think of a way to kill them first._

She clutched her dagger like a talisman. The handle felt reassuringly solid in her paw. How useful the thing would be in a combat situation was debatable at best. But for now, it was an advantage, and an advantage was a very, very good thing, considering what she was up against.

The others were fighters, beasts who had been trained in battles and skirmishes. Eliza's battlefields had, up to this point, featured polished floors, and the combatants came armed with pointed gossip and cutting insults. Eliza knew how to scar hearts, but the others knew how to stop them from beating.

Something went _tick_. Eliza stiffened, clutching the dagger handle.

_Tick. Tick._

Tick.

Somebeast was skulking about in the shadows. The _tick_ was footclaws, tapping against the floor. By the last shred of the torchlight, it became a moving assortment of lines and shadows. Eliza couldn't make out any real details, but the mole's rounded shape was unmistakable.

_Odd. I would have thought those simpering bumpkins would band together. So much for their namby-pamby loyalties._

It _tick-_ed again, coming closer. Eliza's breathing slowed. Her gaze bore into the dark shape.

_Come on, you wretched little soilsnout._

The dagger felt restless, as though it itched to plunge into fur and flesh.

_Quick. It'll have to be quick. No screaming, like with Verand. _

She recalled the lessons Rath had given to Venril, back in the caves. The circumstances were different, but the principles remained the same. _Don't think about it. Just do it. The best thing to do is go for the throat. He won't be able to scream, and he won't have a chance to fight back. That'll be one down, and there will only be three._

Something went _Whumph,_ and the mole emitted a bass _"Oomph!"_ Eliza couldn't make out the action, but the sounds wove a terrible story. A small cry of alarm descended into a chorus of pitiful snuffles and gargling noises as the mole fought for breath. There was scuffling, grunts of exertion. Then there was a splattering smack, as though somebeast had dropped an overripe melon. A horrible gasp, curtailed by another smack.

Somebeast breathed heavily in the darkness, with just a faint hint of a giggle.

Eliza held her breath. Somebeast had just killed the mole, and if they found her, they would kill her, no question. Something fluttered in her lungs, and niggled at the back of her throat. She gulped, trying frantically to quell the rising urge.

The cough was small, but it shattered the silence.

_Hellgates_. Eliza bolted.

The predator was in the shadows, so she fled for the light. Somebeast hit her from behind, dragging her to the ground. She squirmed around, trying to backpedal out of its grasp. Claws dug into her throat, and Eliza stared breathlessly into a pus-ridden maw. _Matukhana! _

He was choking her, squeezing off her air supply. She tried to grab his paws, tried to force him off. Matukhana picked her up, slammed her into the rock. Eliza whimpered in pain, as something cracked within her chest. Small tendrils of black began to creep in, leeching away her vision. _No. No! Not like this. It's not supposed to end like this._

Please... she whispered, to anybeast who would listen. _Please, Captain, don't kill me. Please, footpaws, get up. Please, let me go home. I want to go home. I don't want to die. Not here. Not in this stupid, ragged, threadbare dress, without any dignity or anybody to hold on to. I don't want to die. Fates, I don't want to die._

And then, in the stillness of the moment, very quietly, and with infinite sardonic simplicity, something said _"...Then don't."_

She snapped forward across the distance, and her teeth tore into his mutilated face. Matukhana shrieked, and his paws thumped against her back and neck. She bit deeper, savoring the renewed scream. Blood began to flow.

_Crack!_ A fist connected with her jaw, forcing her to let go. Matukhana flung her away. Eliza hit the stone, splayed across it like a broken doll.

Eliza panted, staring into space. She could feel her heart straining, beating itself desperately against her battered ribs. Somewhere beyond her vision, Eliza could hear the Captain breathing heavily. Suddenly the sound was overwhelmed by retching, and something wet splattered against the stones.

The pine marten struggled into a sitting position, gasping with pain. She tried to stand, but another violent cough folded her. _Get up,_ she screamed to herself. _Get up, you fool! Get out of here!_

_Too late._ A curtain of shadow parted for Matukhana. In his paw the fox held a large chunk of rock. It dripped red.

Eliza stiffened into a half-erect position, wincing. Her ribs felt like they were full of glass shards. Matukhana stepped towards her, a malevolent dementia churning behind his eyes.

Eliza raised the dagger, knowing full well how useless it would be. _This is it, isn't it? The end..._

The dagger point trembled in her shaking paw. The weapon wouldn't make any difference; after all, she didn't even know how to _use_ it. She could never realistically hope to bring down the Captain.

_But maybe I'll slow him down a bit._

Eliza tensed, ready to stab at the menacing fox. The Captain swam about in her vision, looming ever larger. A heavy boot clomped onto the stone. Matukhana lurched, his stance unsteady. Then he stopped, free paw clenched to his abdomen. The fox's breathing was labored and shallow. Drool and bits of mushroom dripped from his savaged jaw.

Despite the pain, Eliza smiled. _So much for dumb luck._

There was a spray of something warm and wet.

Matukhana slowly sank to his knees, still heaving. The Leftenant stood behind him. Her rock smashed into the Captain's head again, crushing him to the floor.

Pine marten and dormouse locked eyes.

Eliza's grip on the dagger tightened.

"Don't even think about it, vermin," the Leftenant snapped. "Surrender that blade."

_What, so you can gut me with it?_ "Are you insane?"

The dormouse's voice descended to a gravelly snarl. "Hardly. Now give me the dagger, strumpet."

"No!" she snapped defiantly.

The dormouse lunged forward, bulling Eliza back to the wall. The dagger handle hit the rock and sprang from her grasp. Eliza swiped at the Leftenant's face, but the stocky dormouse dodged the claws and went in for a tackle. They hit the ground, hard.

Rocks ground into Eliza's back as the Leftenant's weight hit her chest. Pain flared through her ribs. Eliza gasped, and a fist hammered into her face. She cried out, and received another blow. And another. Pinpricks of light pierced in the darkness.

Her head spinning, Eliza raised a feeble defensive paw. The dormouse did not hit her again, but seized her arm and wrenched it upwards, towards the light. "Where did you steal this bangle?"

"I didn't," Eliza croaked. Blood trickled onto her tongue.

The Leftenant smacked her across the muzzle. "Don't lie to me, you wench! That's Damask's! Why did you steal it?" The dormouse shifted her weight forwards, pinning Eliza's throat. "Why?"

Eliza's chest heaved. "I didn't steal it," she wheezed. "He gave it to me."

Confusion and hostility billowed from the dormouse's nostrils. "Why would he give it to you? You're the reason he left! You-you ruined him!"

A tear slipped down Eliza's face. "I... I know."

"You know?" the dormouse snarled.

"And... I'm sorry."

The Leftenant exploded. "You're sorry? After everything you've done, that's all you have to say? 'I'm sorry?' When did you _ever_ care about him? When did you ever think about what he wanted?"

"If you kill me, you're killing the one he loves."

There was a very pregnant pause. Finally, the dormouse spoke. "Only one of us can walk out of here, Lacrimosa."

Eliza glanced past the Leftenant to the other side of the pit, where Adriak and his harlot watched the festivities. "I have a plan," she whispered, nodding towards the spectators.

As the Leftenant turned to look, Eliza's paw found the dagger.

===

_There was a time before the wealth; a time when things were happy and simple. Of course, most specific events had long ago dissipated away into the fog of the past, and there were only little bits and pieces left to remember that life by._

One scene, however, endured.

Two pine martens tripped lightly down the forest path. The bright summer sunshine filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows all along the trail.

Eliza would skip ahead, laughing and giggling, as all little females tend to do. Her father plodded steadily on behind her, burdened with a large basket of leeks. In retrospect, the basket must have been incredibly heavy, but Daddy was not a complainer. Every time she looked back, he was smiling after her in the way that fathers do, that tired smile which rejoices in watching the boundless energy of youth.

The leeks were to be prepared for supper, much to young Eliza's chagrin. She hated leeks. They tasted yucky, and it sounded as though they would make your insides leak out if you ate too many of them. The young pine marten searched about as she walked, looking to see if there were any berry bushes growing along the path. Perhaps Mum could be persuaded to make tarts. Tarts could easily make up for leeks.

Berries were not to be found, but Eliza's keen eyes spotted a few drab toadstool caps sprouting up from the roots of an oak tree. Delightful! Mushrooms could make soups and stews and things, and they would surely taste worlds better than stuffy old leeks. She grabbed a few and proudly pranced back to Daddy to display her achievement.

Daddy, however, did not shower her with praise. His face grew anxious, and he snatched a mushroom.

"Did you eat one of these?" Eliza shook her head.

"You're sure?" Eliza nodded, slightly insulted. She wasn't the sort to tell fibs.

Daddy didn't explain himself until he'd taken her to the steam and made her wash her paws. Twice. Then he had told her all about plants, and how leeks and carrots were good for you, and how some plants would make you very, very sick. Treacherous, was what he said. Mushrooms were treacherous, and you had to be very careful when picking them, because some were good and some were very, very bad. They would make you throw up, and they would make it hard to breathe, and they could even make you die.

Eliza was taken aback by this, and asked how she was supposed to know which ones were which. There was a little rhyme, he said, that her grandsire had taught him when he was her age.

Dark below an' with green cap  
Eat, and be a happy chap  
Green above and white beneath  
Never let it past your teeth.__

She'd thought it rather silly, but he'd made her repeat it several times, until she could say it without fumbling the words. Then he had smiled another one of those proud Daddy smiles.

"I know it seems silly now, my dear," he said. "But that rhyme could save your life, some day." 


	76. The End, Part I

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 76. The End, Part I: On the Wings of the Night  
**_by Bellona, Eliza, and Revel_

His tongue flicked out. Damp and cold. All around Medjool could feel the frigid walls of the tunnels pressing in, and behind, he could taste the foul musk of fear he trailed like a wounded limb. It would lead any beast clever enough to have been born with a nose straight to him. The lizard struggled to run faster without the comforting counterweight of his tail to balance him out.

_Curze him!_ the lizard snarled inwardly, thinking of the ferret with the axe who had forced him to shed the beloved appendage. Not only that, the demonic creature had stolen away Medjool's first hope for a proper meal in several days. That little scarred fuzzy thing would have been so easy to–

A skitter of stones from behind roused the coward from his dietary musings. Whether there was anybeast actually pursuing him was inconsequential -- at the moment, every echo and shadow provided a new threat upon his life. How could he have ever agreed to this? A few pointy objects stabbing at him?

_Should have killed them all,_ he thought petulantly, and then perked up when he saw a beam of light ahead.

The moon's light bathed the upper part of the shaft in an insidious red hue. Red like those creatures' blood would be.

Medjool felt the tiniest pang of remorse as his claws found a grip on the rope they'd used to shimmy down. The lizard clenched his jaw and pulled the corners of his lips down, concentrating as he began to pull himself up, claw-over-claw. He remembered running with those creatures and being told he had a part to play in their mad plan to obtain the mushrooms.

_Never agree to that!_ Medjool grunted and paused, trying to find another hold for his footclaws. _Only agree find muzzroomz, not get._ He also hadn't agreed to die, certainly not for those vicious, sweaty fur-beasts who stabbed at his precious scales and mocked him at every turn. Maybe the mole, squirrel, and otter weren't so bad. They hardly said anything at all, and he certainly never interacted with them. It was almost as if there was an unseen force directing him to speak only with some creatures and not with others...

The lizard shook his head and looked up -- four Medjool-lengths left to go.

_Iz Zagaru mad I leave and no muzzroomz?_ he wondered. It occurred to him that she had been among those holding a blade to his body some eight or nine hours ago. _Yez._ Medjool would need to be clever, then. They'd scaled the cliffs of the Oasis in clear view and with the blessings of both Sagaru and a fat ferret who had taken it upon himself to mark their progress with ragged shouts about how they were climbing toward some roots and wouldn't they grab them on the way back down?

Now, coming back down without the mushrooms or search party, he would need to avoid everybeast. He would have chosen somewhere else to descend, rather than straight back into the Oasis, but it was a treacherous climb to and from the limestone heights, even with the half-eroded staircase carved out seasons ago by the Oasis-dwellers.

No, there was no other choice. He would use all his lizardly stealth, escape detection, and return safe and sound to his cave where he could find a bit of meat – meat that _wasn't_ diseased -- to eat.

Medjool's claws scrabbled at the top of the shaft and he hauled himself over the lip, wishing, for once in his life, that he had the ability to pant because his lungs were burning and that seemed to help the fuzzy creatures when they were dying of exertion. He rested several minutes, collecting himself and waiting for his arms to quit shaking like desiccated cacti.

As the bloody moon slipped silently across the sky, Medjool began his descent, keeping himself as small as possible and using whatever shadows were cast on the cliff face. It took two hours to safely slither down and stomp the familiar sands of the Oasis under claw. He started forward, intending to circle toward the palm grove where so many of the creatures were ill, when two voices stopped him.

-----

"_You!_" Kirby and Sagaru cried. The mouse, ferret, and several woodlanders lunged at Medjool who cowered and fell to all fours.

"Iz zorry!" the lizard wailed. "Iz zorry! Medjool zorry!" He paused long enough in his sniveling to realize that nobeast had actually grabbed him. He stopped moaning. "Iz...zorry?"

"What are ye sorry fer?" Kirby raised an eyebrow, but Sagaru had a good idea about that.

"Where are the mushrooms, Medjool?" the Heir demanded. She added as an afterthought, "And the search party... Where are they?"

"Ah! This is th'scaly I saw goin' up?" The ferret scratched thoughtfully at his impressive girth.

"Why iz you together?" the lizard queried, looking between the lone vermin and woodlanders. "I iz thinking verminz hate woodlanderz, an' zame wordz zwitch around."

"Oh," Kirby said, shifting his gaze to the little mouse beside him, "we've come to an accord o' sorts 'bout certain details."

-----

_"Where's th'Cap'n goin', anyway?" Kirby asked as he watched the procession of beasts up the limestone cliff face. "He knows we got trouble 'ere, don't he?"_

"Yes," Sagaru replied. "He's going to find a cure to the sickness."

"Blimey!" the ferret's brows knit together. "Is 'e? That's not very Cap'n-like o' him."

"I suspect he wants to be first in line for the antidote," the mouse pointed out.

"Ah. Aye! That sounds Cap'n-like now. Name's Kirby, by th'way. I'm th'cook. You lot could do ter let us 'ave a bit more veggibles an' fish if we're stayin' around 'ere fer a bit. Crew don't 'ave th'strength ter go trekkin' through th'desert an' buildin' a ship on just porridge."

Sagaru turned away without comment.

"Oi!" Kirby growled, grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around. "I'm talkin' ter ye!"

"And I'm not listening," the Oasis leader snarled. "I don't care about you vermin. You can build a boat, sit on your paws, or go jump off a cliff and die. Preferably the latter. _I'm_ going to go search the old records for any more information on the cure. They survived it once. There must be something more!"

"I'll 'elp," Kirby said at once. "I c'n read."

"No." Sagaru stepped away, hackles raised. "You stay away and we'll," she motioned to herself and several other woodlanders, "deal with this."

The cook's face darkened and he took an ominous step forward. "You let me 'elp, mousey," he commanded. "Cos I don't trust ye ter share yer information if I ain't there. An' if ye don't...yer gonna 'ave a world o' trouble on yer paws." He poked her in the chest. "You listen ter me: we ain't started actin' like vermin yet fer this truce, but ye won't like us when we do."

Sagaru seethed, glaring at the audacious cook, and then relented. "Fine." Better to keep this up-and-coming leader in her sights than let him go roaming and cause a fuss. "Come with me...git."

-----

"Medjool, I asked you a question," Sagaru pressed, her eyes boring into the lizard.

"Aye, an' it's a good one," the ferret agreed, nodding sagely. "Where's me Cap'n Matukhana? Crew's too sick ter work on th'ship. We need that cure. Me'n Saggy 'ere got information what might 'elp," he added.

"Shut up!" the leader of the Oasis shouted, then pointed an accusing claw at Medjool. "Speak."

Medjool briefly considered creating an elaborate lie, then realized that the truth was less likely to get him killed. In fact, with a minor bit of embellishment, it could make him a hero!

"I iz come to tell!" the lizard rose to his footclaws and puffed out his chest boldly. "They zend I to get help. Zrechrrl, evil verminz, attack uz when we find muzzroom cave, yez? Medjool come to get Zagaru and...eh..."

"Kirby."

"Yez. Kirby. Come to get Zagaru and Kirby and beastz to help fight Zrechrrl." He nodded adamantly. "They hide muzzroomz! Otherz in lotz trouble, Medjool think. Need hurry!"

"Bo hurr! But half o' our creatures bee'm sick with ee plague," a mole, Root, objected. "And they bee'm startin' t'go sick in ee heads, too. Ee likkle vole who was in ee caverns troid t'bite me! Oi set her roight, though, Oi did. Boi moi diggin' claws!" He raised a muscular arm and everybeast could see where shallow teeth marks ran across his knuckles.

"Hmm... some o' th'crew's been more 'ot under th'collar than usual," Kirby said. "Thought they were just gettin' restless. Shoulda known Ole Kimpy wasn't th'sort ter bite. Lost most o' 'is teeth a gull's age ago."

"It doesn't matter if they're sick," Sagaru reasoned. "If they can walk, it's better to get to those caves. Without the mushrooms, I don't think..." she trailed off, eyes falling on Root's digging claws. "It's better they get this antidote straight away if they can. We should tell that lot who were with that stoat captain, Venril. They should get off their lazy tails and come, too. Ash!" A young squirrelmaid perked up at her name. "Go and fetch them. Be as quick as you can. If any of them have strength to carry a blade, tell them they'd better come, or they're not getting the cure."

"Yes, marm!" she scuttled off to do as she was bid.

"That leaves you, vermin." The mouse stared up at Kirby, and the ferret stared right back. "You won't turn on us mid-battle, will you?"

Kirby made a noise that might have been a cough or a snort. "I ain't Matukhana," he explained. "I got no stake in some private little war with a furry-tailed mouse or some mystical treasure. I just want t'get outta this Fates awful place and back ter th'water. I'd take sea monsters over you lot wailin' over this patch o' ground any day. Had enough o' th'desert. Gimme me health, me crew, me ship, me kitchen, an' me cap'n an' I'll be on me way, sure 'nough!"

"Fair point." Sagaru jerked her head up and down, accepting the rotund creature's word. "You try to cross me, though, and I will execute each and every one of your crew who isn't already at death's door thanks to the plague your captain brought back with him."

Kirby picked his nose and had the good sense to walk away to rally the remainder of the crew, rather than point out that woodlanders had brought the plague back, too.

"And as for you, Medjool," Sagaru continued once Kirby had disappeared into the palms and begun yelling, "you will lead us to the search party. Where you left them, you coward."

"But...but I not coward," the lizard whinged. "I come to tell Zag–Urgh!"

"No." The mouse winced and flexed her balled fist -- punching scales hurt. "You ran away. Fortuitous that it's helpful, hmm? You three," she said, pointing to a Root and two shrews, "don't let him out of your sight."

-----

It took a full thirty minutes for Sagaru and Kirby to muster what troops they could and arm them. The majority of Venril's contingent came, too, reluctantly, and lined up with the rest. It was a peculiar army of sickly stoats, mice, weasels, squirrels, ferrets, otters, and all other manner of creatures that ascended the cliffs, led by a cringing lizard. Three hours later, everybeast stood, panting in the moonlight, and staring down at the dark crevice that Medjool pointed out.

"Iz here," he said. "Go down, then left, take two rightz, then left, then middle tunnel, then...eh...then left I think...no! Waz right. Yez. Go right and then straight on, turn corner and there you iz!"

"Good," Sagaru praised, "you remember the way. Now lead on."

"But!" Medjool protested, eyes growing wide. "I not going down there again. Iz...iz much dark and damp. Not good for zcalez!"

"Ye'll either climb down, matey," Kirby interjected, "or we'll throw ye down first. Pick yer poison."

The lizard sneered, then hissed, raising his claws and stepping forward menacingly. "I iz not have lizten to fuzzy thingz. You not treat Medjool like–Ack!" Medjool's arms pin-wheeled as he struggled to keep his balance on the brink -- another kick from Sagaru promising to send him on a long fall with a quick stop.

"Fine! I do! I do!" He caught himself and scrambled for the rope before anybeast could get second thoughts about his usefulness. "I take you there now!"

----- _Several Hours Previous_ -----

First things first, Zhipzi decided: the stoatkit would need to eat. She could probably feed him herself, although it had been a while since her own kits had last fed from her - but she wasn't going to stick around. She'd seen too much of the outside world to stay content with the idea of simply growing old in this darkness, being picked off one at a time by the Srechrrl. It may have been too late to save Revel, but everybeast else...

Zhipzi didn't know of any stoats with litters, but her neighbor was a ferret, and they were basically stoats with funny colors and fluffier tails, right? Just like how stoats were basically bigger weasels with longer arms and a black tipped tail and sometimes they lost their brown.

Zhipzi deposited the wriggling, keening babe with her neighbor's brood, staying only long enough to explain its origins and the dangers she had been through to rescue it. The ferret jill sniffed curiously at Zubble, and nodded her assent; she would do what she could for the son of Revel The Hantz-Cooker.

It took Zhipzi a few more hours searching through the caves to gather together her own brood. Past the weaning age, Fritterik generally went about their own routines; her own kits had scattered like beetles, only grouping back together in their home cave intermittently, when their sleeping schedules coincided.

As luck would have it, now was one of those times. Zhipzi shook them all awake, noted that one was missing, and told them she was going to fight the Srechrrl.

"Mum's crazy!"

"Mum's gonna get eated, hee!"

"Mum's gonna disappear like papa! No more licky baths!"

"No more licky baths! Wee!"

They took the news rather well.

"What is this ruckus?" Yrika Chivkis said, happening by the chamber on his rounds. "Zhipzi - you have abandoned the ways of the Shrip and returned to us? I had heard news of your mate, Vakka-shin... I am terribly sorry. Perhaps, if you would have listened to my doubts..."

"Urrr. No," the weaselmum said. "I'm not staying. I've come back to tell the Vikvi Chivkis what happened to Revel. She gave birth to five kits, and four and herself were attacked by the Srechrrl. I am going to fight them!"

"This news is grievous, but if that is the way of things, it is too late. Revel and her kits are gone from us and the Srechrrl are too much for any Fritter to handle on her own. Pray, stay with us, Zhipzi. The Wizzle Chivkis is growing old, and it is believed you have honored yourself–"

"Baez was right. The world outside is beautiful. The sun is warm, the ground is soft, and the water is clear to the bottom of the pool. There are big mosses called grass and bigger mushrooms called palms and the roof is blue and forever away. If you take my eyes, Chivkis..."

"The world outside has blinded you, Zhipzi. You need no eyes to see the beauty of our lives."

The weaselmum cast her gaze down at her kits, who sat quietly in the presence of their most noble Chivkis. She smiled.

"Yrika Chivkis... wicky-chivvers!"

Stumbling back in shock, the wildcat roared his disbelief, while the little weasels around her footpaws fell about laughing hysterically at their mother's blasphemous tongue.

"Wicky-chivvers!" they repeated, tromping around on all fours, dancing circles around Yrika. The wildcat, unable to see them, tripped up and went tumbling off down the tunnel. Zhipzi had stuffed a whole paw in her mouth to quiet her giggles at the sight of her kits chasing after him, shouting the curse repeatedly.

Then she went to find Trpcic. Not all Chivkis were stuck-up snobs. The Fritterik stoats would listen to Trpcic. She had kept the males from bothering Revel, and now that Revel was gone...

They would fight. Maybe not all of them. But Revel was of Chivkis blood, daughter of Yikker-chip, Trpcic's lost sister...

And the Srechrrl would know this acutely in the hours to come.


	77. Once Warm

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 77. Once Warm  
**_by Revel_

"Tell me, little Eliza - what is your dream? When you close your eyes and wish yourself away from here, where do you go? What land holds your heart, your passion, in its clutches, squeezing you 'til it aches in your chest? Go on, do tell."

"Th'forest..."

"The forest! Acres and acres of majesty, aren't they? Columns of Mother Nature's porch, strewn about, some towering, some fallen - why? Why the forest?"

"It's... 's nice."

"The forest is a deathtrap. Plagued with woodlanders and birds of prey, snakes and spiders. Berries more poisonous than tasty, nuts and fruits too scattered among the useless trees. A storm can kill you with a crack of a branch. A winter can kill you with a hidden snowfall. There's nothing lovely about forests, Eliza. Do you know why it's not called Dark Heath? Or Dark Prairie? Dark Meadows? It's called Dark Forest, though. Ever stop and think why?"

To this, Revel had no answer. She sat, semi-cowering in her corner, as Adriak paced the little room. Bellona had been dragged away, but the pine marten had elected to stay and taunt her a little more before returning to attend to the rest of the prisoners.

More annoying than his constant monologueing was his calling her Eliza. Revel had tried to correct him half a dozen times before, but nothing seemed to stick; or he interrupted her with another tangent. She had learned to just shut up and let him speak.

"There is a place in everybeast's heart, Eliza, that hurts them for want of it. It's a place they call home, or a place they imagine they will go to when they die. It's different for everybeast - the color of the sky, the feel of the breeze. It's what everybeast searches for, constantly, whether they know it or not. They never find it. Everybeast dies for it. They die before they find it, or they die to find it. I want you to consider this, Eliza - I found mine. I am very much alive, and this is mine."

Adriak spread his arms out, indicating the cave. "It's everything I want. Cool, dark tunnels. Caverns of crystalline beauty. A breeze from somewhere, cold as steel, warm as iron fire, always rushing with me. And I, as a social creature, am never alone. I have my Strong Fangs, I have my beautiful mates, I have my Kelly, and my children. I am very happy here, and everybeast is happy when I am happy.

"Eliza, consider once again, your forest. Is it really the place you would call home? Is it really where you would have your children live? Or would you kill them, trying to find it? Why not... why not let them stay here, with me, and be happy, with me, as my children?" Adriak tapped his nose. "Something to think about. Let me know when you've decided. Right now I have to go watch your rescuers beat each-other to death! Haha!"

The marten chuckled boisterously as he sauntered out of the room. He paused by the Srechrrl guard and added, "When she's done feeding those disgusting hare pellets, bring her out to watch the fight."

Revel sobbed into her arm. She hadn't thought of it before - or had she thought of it, and merely kept it down, layering her other problems over top? - but she missed the forest something fierce. She missed the crinkle of leaves in the air, and the scent of elderberries even when there were no elderberries. She missed the musk of rotting cedar and the puddles of stagnant rainfall hidden among twisted roots. She missed the noise of it, the symphony of every moth's flutter and every cricket's dance. She missed the crumble of wet bank-side clay, and the mornings when nothing stirred but the wind and the lapping of a pond's ripples fading against the pink, purple, yellow, white, black, gray, blue, green, red stones of the shoreline's fractured rainbow.

She missed the forest and it hurt in her lungs, behind her heart, where before there had been nothing _to_ hurt. She had been happy. There was always something to be happy about: an egg, a wonderful male scent, a broken rope, the thrill of a hunt, a feast after famine, a new dress, a song to listen to - even her kits, which she had never expected to be happy about.

And now?

Now she wasn't so sure. Kits still, she supposed. Those were always something to be happy about lately. Except...

She wanted all of them. This motley assortment was not fair. This ferret kit - almost too old to be weaning - and this infant rat, they did not replace her Zubble; why was she being made to feed them? If their mothers had died in some attack, that was their problem. The ferret, especially, was being annoying, shoving aside Revel's own newborns to get at the best spots.

Revel growled and grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, flinging the rotten little beast away. Its tiny claws skittered as it fought to keep from rolling, and then came tromping back to her, burying its nose in her fur with a squelch. It made her rather want to throw up. At least the rat hadn't grown teeth...

"Bucket-face," she said, looking up at the blank-eyed Srechrrl fox standing by the entrance. "I'm 'ungry. How'm I gonna feed these if I got nothin' inside meself?"

Bucket-face - whose snout really did look like it had been molded from a bucket, like a sandcastle - stared at her in complete confusion.

"Food," she said. "I know you unnerstand me! That pine marten told you stuff!"

The fox shifted around and shouted something in Fritterik at the next cave over. A smaller fox trotted up, seething in quiet reply. Revel recognized the tod as being the one Zhipzi had branded - the one that had tried to eat Zubble right out of her paws. The little beast looked to be in a lot of pain, just barely able to concentrate on his orders. Revel had no sympathy.

She lay back and waited, paws folded behind her head, the kits splayed every-which-way atop her. One by one they drifted off to sleep, and food had still not come. She could hear shouting and screaming, with the occasional burst of clapping.

Placing the ferret and rat together, Revel got up and put her dress top back on, and collected her kits back into the pockets of her coat. Marching up to the fox, she poked him in the chest.

"If I don't get food, I'm gonna eat _you_," she said.

Mutely, the guard grabbed her paw and hauled her away, pausing only to shout for another Srechrrl to tend to the two kits left behind.

The gladiator pit was not far from Adriak's throne room. As far as Revel could tell, the Srechrrl territory was a lot more densely packed than the Fritterik's. There were very few side caves for families to sleep in, and more general-use chambers laden with pelts and bones in the corners - most of them empty, as everybeast had turned out for the fight.

Revel was sat down beside Adriak, on the pine marten's left. To his right, the vixen Kelly sat, with the Melt-face tod on her lap. The brat craned over to look at Revel and, in the language of all youth in need of a good slapping, stuck his tongue out at her. Revel stuck her tongue out right back, and then snorted in laughter as the fox's face contorted in pain. Kelly held him tighter, stroking his head, as he whimpered.

"I'm - " Revel began.

"Hush," Adriak said, patting her shoulder. "Look, Eliza - watch the squirrel. Oh, you just missed it! That fox got her in the leg, oh, what a good strike it was! Pity he was chased off again. Weakened by coughing, was that right, love?"

"She kicked him right up in the face," Kelly nodded. "I can see him stalking that mole now."

"Ooh," Adriak said, peering up. Revel looked down at the edge of the pit, where he had been gesturing previously. She could see Birch struggling to make her way up the sides of the quarry, slipping now and again with her leg leaving behind a small trail of smattering blood.

"I... want... my..." Revel could hear her grunting. She turned away from the scene and scowled at Adriak.

"I want food."

"We have our kitchen-slaves working on that very problem, my dear," he said distractedly.

"Fritterik are stupid," Revel said. "They don't know 'ow t'cook right. I 'ad t'show 'em everythin'!"

"Ah, but these are Srechrrl, and they are very good cooks, because Kelly and I showed them everything, didn't we, love? Mmhm, and just look at the collection down there - do you see that otter, anywhere, anywhere at all, my dear Eliza? Take a guess where she is!"

"Be'ind that rock?"

"What a card! What. A. Card." Adriak slapped his thighs, nearly suffocating through his laughter. At last he gasped, his face bulging like he'd just been stabbed. "No! She's in the kitchen. Making us a very lovely meal, mm, and that stoat too. But," he added, frowning, "we're so tired of stoat. We've only had otter the once, some old female, isn't that right, love? This younger flesh will make a wonderful celebration feast for our new addition to our families..."

Revel scooted away as Adriak reached out to brush her coat. The pine marten smiled and shook his head.

"Oh, fine. If you're not interested in the fight... My dearest Eliza, would you consider staying with us, if I were to appoint you head cook?"

"I don't wanna cook just 'eads," Revel said.

"_Such_. A. Card. Oh my oh my oh my. You can cook whatever you like, my dear! You would be in charge of cooking everything. I fear it may be too late for our next meal, but - ah! Gordok, do show Eliza to the kitchens, mm? Show her the other catch we have. Maybe she will know of a way to make him not a complete waste, since you and your lot ruined any chance of his pelt being in good enough shape to make into a good hat. Tsk. There's And I thought the Fritterik were wiry little blighters... Go on, then."

Revel shivered as she took off. She breathed through her nose again. Something about Adriak was just wrong. It wasn't just his own overpowering musk that engulfed him, but the scents of many other beasts. Was it from his pelts? It smelled _wetter_ than that.

She was led to the kitchens, which were little more than yet another cave, but with a high ceiling hidden in smoke. Her guard barked an introduction - Revel caught something about not eating her, as she was now a cook like them - and shoved her further inside.

The Srechrrl paid her little attention. All of them here were larger than the rest, their stomachs and limbs thick and wobbly. They clustered around little workstations - tables and basins, and a giant oven, all made of stone. The only wooden object was a frame of sorts, over which hung a decidedly otter-like shape. Two rats were tugging the skin taught while a third scraped away with a knife, simply slapping everything that came loose into a nearby basin. Revel watched as a weasel took a pawful of this stuff and threw it into a simmering stone pot.

The place smelled so familiar. Revel tried to place it. It smelled safe. She felt that this was a place that belonged to her, that she had long ago claimed as her own. It came to her as she spotted something on a far table:

It was the smell of otter soup and a disemboweled male stoat.

For some reason, it made her want to cough.

As she wandered further into the cave, a tray was pulled from the giant oven and quickly placed on the nearest table. Nona's charred body lay curled on the platter, cooked through. Revel headed towards it, grabbing a knife from a cook. The beast nipped at her, but she kicked him away and began sawing through the blackened outer layer. Snipping and sawing, Revel pulled off a hefty chunk of thigh and bit into it, closing her eyes in bliss as the bloodied meat seeped down her throat.

She allowed herself to be shuffled aside as more cooks portioned it out for their masters.

She finished quickly, gnawing the bone clean, and licked her paws. A few shreds of meat she stuffed into her coat pockets, either for herself for later, or for her kits to gnaw on.

With her stomach assuaged and her tongue aching from trying to round up the strands of meat stuck between her teeth, curiosity overtook her. She went over to the dead stoat, which the cooks had been ignoring.

It was Venril.

His clothes had been robbed, one of his arms were missing. There were chunks of flesh gone from his face, his body and limbs. He was cold to the touch, and stiff, but she held him tight anyway, and soaked his neck with her tears, because he smelled like death.

"I didn't mean it... I mean it, Venril, 'm sorry, 'm sorry..."

* * * * * *

"Eliza! Mm, wonderful tuck isn't it? Come look at this fantastic fight! See, my dear, your doppelganger?"

"My what?" Revel said, sitting down beside Adriak once again. She wasn't in the mood for his jovial antics. Her nose was runny from crying, and her eyes hurt.

The marten was waving around a piece of Nona's tail, jabbing it towards the quarry.

"Look, down at Eliza, Eliza."

Revel looked down at her stomach.

"No, I mean Ugly Eliza."

Revel stared blankly, then pointed to herself questioningly.

"_Uglier_ Eliza," Adriak sighed.

Revel's face scrunched in thought. "Me?"

"No! The pine marten Eliza! Look, down there!"

The stoatmaid's face burst into a glowing smile. She wasn't the Uglier Eliza? Somebeast... thought she was better looking?

At that moment, Revel didn't care about Adriak's smell, or his constant threats, or the way he dismissed her kits as hare pellets. She wanted to hug him and have him tell her she was beautiful, like he did with Kelly. She clutched her tail to her chest happily.

No. She wanted Venril to hug and have him tell her she was beautiful. But that wouldn't ever happen.

"Oh, now you've gone and missed it... Such suspense!"

"I was sure Mr. Scumjaw was going to strangle her," Kelly sighed, slipping a bone out from her mouth and setting it on a neat little pile with some others. Melt-face was curled up beside her, sleeping fitfully.

"But where has the dormouse got to? Can you see them, Eliza, over there?"

Following Adriak's lead, Revel leaned over and tried to find the fighters in the pit. She could see Matuhkana and Rugger, dead at the far side, and Birch was curled up along right below them, as if napping - the wall bloodied from her attempts to scale it with a wounded leg. But she couldn't see - oh! There they were, rolling into sight from behind a clumpy formation of rocks not far from where Matukhana's body lay.

"Get away from me, you disease-ridden maniac!"

"Come back here, coward!"

"Oh, what fun," Adriak giggled. There was flash of silver between the fighters, as they raced towards the side of the quarry closest to the spectator's ledge.

Eliza - the pine marten - turned with her back against the wall.

"Stay back!" she shouted, her voice ringing clearly in Revel's ears, despite the distance. Eliza waved something at Bellona, as the mouse lunged and shrieked, prancing back and clutching her arm.

"A weapon?" Adriak said, incredulous. "That's not fair..."

"But it's interesting," Kelly said. They both laughed.

"Uneven odds are what I'm all about, love!"

Eliza, with all the prowess of a pine marten, was scaling the walls and ledges towards them. Revel reached over to the pile of gnawed bones and, selecting one, threw it down. It missed the marten's head by inches.

"Nagger-nugger!" Revel crowed, cackling along with the other two, although her laughter was cut short by a cough. They were correct - this was great, watching Eliza and the funny-looking mouse finally duking it out. Revel, now lying on her stomach with her paws clutching the edge, looked down and grinned.

Bellona had recovered, and was following doggedly, ascending much faster than Eliza originally had. Birch had woken up and was edging along, away from Eliza's course.

"Give me that knife!" Bellona yelled. She caught Adriak's eye. "You said no weapons! She's cheating!"

"I am not!" Eliza said, kicking out at the mouse's head. "I don't have a knife, you brute!"

"Better a brute than a strumpet!"

"Stop calling me that, Scarface!"

"Kettle, much?" Adriak murmured. Kelly sniggered.

"I call it as I see it, marten. Why else would Matukhana have kept you alive so long?"

"How dare you insinuate I'm anything like those disgusting creatures up there!"

"I say," Kelly interjected, pouting. "That's a bit heavy-pawed, isn't it?"

"Tch!" Bellona grabbed Eliza's tail, yanking the marten down from a clawhold. "Let's count the idiots you've seduced: a stoat and a bird. It doesn't seem a far step to fox from there."

Revel sat up and scooted back as Eliza reached for her nose - somehow the pine marten had gotten a lot closer than seemed possible. Hauling herself up onto the ledge, Eliza stopped a moment to breathe.

"Tell me," Bellona growled, hauling herself up behind Eliza. The pine marten and mouse stood now, circling each-other. Adriak and Kelly were grinning ear-to-ear, shifting themselves to get a better view of the show.

"Tell you what, mouse?" Eliza said.

"Were you always such a strumpet, or did the corsairs teach you one by one?"

Eliza threw herself at Bellona with a snarl, and the two locked into a furious grip of paws and claws, yet somehow keeping themselves at arm's length. They fell and rolled along the ledge, nearer and nearer to Adriak and Kelly, who were clapping. The young fox, Melt-face, had long since run off.

Eliza at last kicked Bellona off her, and as both of them rose to her footpaws, Bellona launched herself again - this time straight at Kelly. The knife appeared in the dormouse's paw, pressed tight against the vixen's throat.

"See?" Eliza said, holding her paws out to Adriak. "Told you I didn't have it."

Before Adriak could reply, Birch whacked him across the back of the head with the bone Revel had thrown down earlier. The squirrel grabbed her hammer and whirled on Revel, who was pressed up flat against the wall. The ladder leading up off the ledge was behind Eliza and Bellona; the stoatmaid was stuck.

"Don't 'it me!" Revel squealed. "I didn't make you fight!"

"Leave her, Birch," Bellona said. "She's not worth it."

Revel nodded wildly. "Adriak said 'e only didn't make me fight too because 'e wants my kits!"

Birch paused a moment, as if considering this, then raised her hammer a bit higher. She grinned as Revel flinched.

"Does anybeast else hear clapping?" Eliza said suddenly.

"That's not clapping..."

Nevertheless, thunder gradually filled the cavern. Dust shook from the ceiling. Revel clutched her tail tightly.

Looking up at the ledges above them, the Srechrrl watching the fight had vanished.


	78. The End, Part II

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 78. The End, Part II: We've Got Everybody Singing  
**_by Bellona, Eliza and Revel_

"For Jurin!" Sagaru howled, hacking into a nearby Srechrrl ferret. His blood splashed into her face as she ripped her blade from his shoulder and moved to the next enemy. The vixen she turned upon fell as easily as the ferret, and then the mouse began to encounter some resistance.

The Srechrrl screamed at one another in their unintelligible language, backing up and spreading out to avoid falling into the quarry pit they were pressed up to like so many pike in a feeding frenzy. They were warrior enough to always keep their weapons close to paw, and now that the surprise of the combined woodlander and vermin assault had worn off, they put their violent training and superior numbers to use.

A group of five spear-wielding Srechrrl charged Sagaru and the mouse felt the first butterflies of panic setting in - three she could take, maybe four, but five? They were upon her, stabbing at her with their primitive, deadly spears.

Sagaru blocked two spears with her sword, kicked away a third, sucked in her stomach to avoid the fourth, but the fifth embedded itself in her thigh. The weapons drew away for a second assault and the mouse swung with all her might, beheading a rat and warding the others off as she twirled in a dangerous circle.

_I can do this!_ she thought, then snarled as a weasel stabbed her already-wounded leg. She managed to hold herself upright, panting, then one of her attackers squealed and went flying away, pinkish bits of bone and flesh trailing him through the air. Another was tossed to the side a second later, hacking blood as her chest caved in.

The remaining Srechrrl dodged the next blow that came from Root's metal-studded club, but failed to avoid Sagaru's sword as she ran him through.

"Burr!" Root's eyes were tinged red and his breathing labored. "Ee varmints is - hurr! - more'n us'ns," he growled. "Oi doan't know if'n - urgh!" The mole blocked a spear and swung out at the owner, turning so that he was now back to back with Sagaru. "If'n we'm c'n win this."

Sagaru looked up and back after slicing open a weasel's chest. A chunk of Root's shoulder had been ripped out by a pair of very strong fangs. She turned her attention back to the weasel Srechrrl and continued fighting doggedly.

-----

All around the quarry pit the battle raged. Oasis beasts and former slaves found themselves back to back with corsairs and hordesvermin, but their numbers were dwindling as the Srechrrl threw spears and bodies at their sickly, ever-smaller force.

Kirby rallied a pawful of beasts and pinned seven Srechrrl between two pillars where they couldn't make full use of the range of their spears, then, with the melee fighters keeping the primitive vermin trapped, he instructed two archers and a slingthrower to wipe the Srechrrl out. They fell like hatchlings from a nest -- no Srechrrl had ever laid eyes on proper long-range weapons.

The ferret tried the tactic again, but before the next group could be contained, one of the archers began panting hard and gnashing his teeth. He threw aside his bow and lunged at the Srechrrl with his bare claws and swiftly became a yowling, bloody pin-cushion. Then, a wave of ferrets and weasels and stoats washed through Kirby's miniature force; the slingerthrower gurgled and dropped as a spear went through his throat.

Kirby defended himself as best he could as more of the vicious little things came at him, then the ring of light he'd been in disappeared.

Somebeast had begun dousing the torches that provided scant illumination to the combatants, plunging more and more of the battle into darkened chaos.

-----

On the spectator's ledge, Bellona and Birch were doing their best to keep Adriak and Kelly under control. Adriak had come around again, after Birch tugged one of his less offensive pelts off to bandage the wound in her leg. Revel sat hunched over against the cliff, as if she were trying to melt into the rock. Eliza was doing the same, albeit with a little more dignity.

A wet _skweck!_ sounded above as a Srechrrl tumbled over the lip of the pit, knocking the ladder askew. He landed on the hard stone on the next ledge just below them, the ladder clattering down and pinning him. He groaned feebly.

Eliza did her best to ignore this and focus on finding an opportunity to get the Hellgates away from all this madness. The darkness on the far side of the quarry pit looked like a good place to hide out for a bit...

"Don't even think about it, marten," Bellona growled, grasping Damask's bracelet and squeezing, exactly as Matukhana had little more than half a day ago. Before either marten or dormouse could trade further comment or insult, a ragged hare landed in their midst. He'd doubtlessly jumped from above.

Bellona released Eliza's wrist and turned to the woodlander.

"Leftenant," the hare said, saluting Bellona, "Sagaru and some of the vermin are here to fight these rotten blighters. I say! Wot are these two, then?"

"We're _the slavers_," Adriak explained groggily, as if this should be obvious to everybeast.

Birch kicked the back of his legs, forcing him to all fours. Kelly quickly followed under similar duress.

While the dormouse and hare talked, the former exchanging her knife for the latter's short sword, Eliza began to edge toward the lip of the ledge once more.

"I do believe she told you to stay, wench. Sit, wench. Fetch, wench. There's an _ugly_ little wench!" Kelly tittered.

"What?" Eliza's eyes narrowed and her tail bristled.

"Oh, she's deaf, too, love," the vixen continued, grinning at Adriak. "I think it's the scars. Probably caused some sort of trauma to her hea – Ugh!"

"Don't you _ever_ speak to me again, you vile, Vulpuz-spawned harlot!" the pine marten snarled, flexing her paw and grimacing as tiny bolts of pain ran up her arm.

"I didn't think you had it in you to fight, Lacrimosa," Bellona observed as Kelly picked herself up.

"You don't know me," Eliza shot back.

The dormouse's lip curled upward in a sneer. "No, but I know what you're going to do." She grabbed the front of Eliza's dress and dragged her unceremoniously to the back of the ledge. "Climb."

The marten's brows drew down in confusion. "You want _me_," she pointed at herself, "to go up _there_?" she indicated the chaotic battle above their heads. "You really are insane."

"You're not going to cower down here while the rest fight your battles," Bellona growled. "You've proved you've some spirit in you, so you'll fight. Or you'll die. I can make that happen now, or you can try your luck with our friends up there."

Eliza considered the dormouse for a moment, staring down her slender snout at the scar-faced-barbarian. "Fine. It's better than being stared at by your hideousness anyway." She put a paw on the rock face, then stopped. "Oh, and while I'm up there getting hacked to bits, what will you be doing? Sitting on your fat little bottom playing crosses-and-draughts with your scars?"

Bellona quirked an eyebrow, but did not rise to the bait. "Following and watching out to make sure you and the rest of the beasts on my side don't lose the bits important to fighting... like life."

"Hmph! Doesn't seem to have done that incoherent hare you were looking after much good." Before the warrior could formulate a response, Eliza scrambled to the top of the quarry pit, looked around, and then hauled herself up when there were slightly fewer beasts about likely to run her through.

Once over the rim, she stood, and then ducked as a spear went sailing over her head. Somewhere safe. She needed somewhere safe to hide until this madness was over.

Grabbing up a discarded spear for protection, the marten bravely ran as fast as she could away from the action. Sensibly, she kept her head low.

-----

"Where's Eliza goin'?" Revel demanded.

"To fight. Like you should," Bellona growled. She was less inclined to force the stoat off into battle, though, given the likelihood that she would attack as many woodlanders as Srechrrl. At least with Eliza, one could trust that she would act in her best interest, which meant aligning herself with Sagaru's forces for the moment.

"Don' wanna..." Revel mumbled, and then her head shot up. She stared at Adriak. "What 'appened t'those kits? Th'little ferret an' th'rat?"

"Are they not in your coat?" Adriak said. "That was our deal! I spare you, you look after them!"

"They're not mine!"

"They're not anybeast's, anymore," Kelly growled. The vixen's face went blank, and then she smiled sweetly at Revel. "Eliza -- _Pretty_ Eliza -- won't you convince your friends to let me go? My son is out there, just a kit, really. His name is Randall. My sweet little Randy. He was burned recently, so he's...not looking his best..."

"Melt-face?" Revel said, nonplussed.

Kelly hissed at the nickname. "Yes. You, as a mother, know the terror I feel for him - please, let me go, just so I can find him..."

"Stop right there," Bellona said, stamping down on the vixen's paw as Kelly reached out to tug pitifully at Revel's skirts. The dormouse glared down at Revel. "If you turn on us, I will not waste one second before shoving you off to be with that Srechrrl, stoat."

Revel leaned against the wall, one paw tucked inside her coat, stroking a kit's head. She didn't say anything for a while, simply ignoring Bellona's threat as she stared at the rock in front of her.

"I say we just pop her now!" Birch stage-whispered. The squirrel started as Revel stood up, but rather than retaliate, the stoatmaid scrambled up the ledge and vanished.

"Don't kill any woodlanders, stoat!" Bellona shouted. "They're on our - _your_ side!"

"Way to keep your team together, eh, squirrel?" Adriak snorted. Birch struck him across the nose with the haft of her hammer.

"Keep them quiet," Bellona instructed Birch, motioning to Adriak and Kelly. "And make sure nobeast kills them. They might be useful later."

"Okay..." Birch replied simply. The squirrel became much more at ease now that Revel was out of the picture, though she was still coughing and groaning from her pains. Bellona was somewhat impressed by Birch's fortitude, though it was probably also due to her being in possession of her hammer at last. She clutched at her weapon now as if it would disappear the moment she let go.

"You can rough them up a bit, though, even if they don't need it," the dormouse whispered to the hare, jerking her claw at the vermin. He nodded and Bellona quickly climbed out of the pit and into the fray.

She dodged to avoid a Srechrrl who charged at her, then began cutting her way across the battlefield toward a raised ledge on the cavern wall. The dormouse stabbed a ferret in the back, and while he was still upright, climbed his body and used it to jump up onto the ledge. The warrior did not like what she saw.

Roughly sixty Srechrrl fought against thirty-five or forty non-Srechrrl vermin and woodlanders. The attacking force had been separated into small groups that were now under constant assault by the Srechrrl. In addition, she noted that the fighting was concentrated in the small pools of light remaining. She realized that the Srechrrl must have strategically darkened the field to force the woodlanders, corsairs, and hordesvermin into weaker positions - they had to use their eyes to fight, the Srechrrl –

"For Rivvilllll!" A voice cried from the darkness on the north side of the quarry pit cavern. Bellona's head jerked sharply toward the noise, as did that of many of the combatants. Then, in the fire's glow, small silhouettes appeared waving rocks, knives and fishing spears, and babbling utter nonsense.

Bellona could honestly say that she never thought she would be so happy to see the Fritterik again.

-----

Zhipzi led the charge of the Fritterik, her teeth bared at the larger creatures and a stone knife clutched in her claws. She and another weasel jumped on a Srechrrl ferret and stabbed his face and chest until he tumbled over backward with a shriek. Then, they scampered over him and onto their next victim.

A hail of rocks flew from the rest of the mostly stoat and weasel mass. Deadtail's teachings had not been forgotten. Although many fell short of their marks, others banged off of paws, noses, and chests, driving many of the Srechrrl backward and over the edge of the quarry pit. They had not expected the sudden reinforcements and their response was as sluggish as it had been in the initial onslaught.

Still other Fritterik, young creatures with their dibbunhood barely a season behind them, dashed forward to cut and slice and parry, and drop and roll to dodge. They had watched Rath the Whirlwind teach Venril and practiced in the dark tunnels with one another, preparing themselves for the next Srechrrl attack. They did not want to just run and hide. They wanted to protect their food and families!

Rallied by the influx of assistance, the remaining woodlanders, corsairs, and hordesvermin cheered and attacked with renewed vigor. At least, it might have been renewed vigor... many of them were panting hard and drooling. They threw their weapons aside and attacked the Srechrrl with tooth, claw, and unholy strength born of disease and adrenaline.

-----

It had been the oddest thing. A Srechrrl had come racing at her, spear raised -- and then stopped. It had cocked its head to the side, blinked once, and then turned around, only to be beheaded by an axe-wielding corsair.

Revel could have sworn it had been Rath's axe.

The stoatmaid had ducked and weaved through the worst of the fighting, seemingly not a target to either side, so long as they recognized her. She'd picked up a spear, and then exchanged it in favor of a short sword, and then exchanged _that_ in favor of a cutlass.

The ferret and the rat had not been there when she'd found the small prison chamber again. There was no sign of bloodshed, except for the throne room, which had dyed her footpaws dark red. She could only assume they'd been taken away and spared from the fighting.

She shrugged her coat off, laying it gently in the corner of the chamber, letting the kits spill out into the center of the folds. They mewled and wobbled, but she turned away and took a stance in the entrance, cutlass held straight in both paws.

She made no distinction. Anybeast who came close was cut down; woodlander, corsair, Srechrrl. Whether they were trying to escape the fighting to a safe haven, or curious about what she was protecting, or just flying at her because she was a target, she let none through. Their blood flecked the walls on either side of her, pooled around her footpaws, and dabbled mystic tattoos on the blank white canvas of her winter fur.

Eventually, they stopped coming. She was visible from a good distance -- a haggard, bloodied stoatmaid, cutlass in one paw, Srechrrl spear in her other, heaving with exertion and wild-eyed for more. Her headscarf hung about her neck, having fallen down past her ears; her dress hung limp, supported now by just one shoulder strap. A semi-circle of bodies and parts of bodies barricaded her from the rest of the fighting in the throne room, which by now was receding to scattered private scuffles.

Zhipzi clambered over and stood just out of range, staring at the monstrous apparition that so closely -- and yet in no way -- resembled her friend.

"Rivvil?"

The stoat uttered a primal hiss, lunging at the smaller weasel. Zhipzi scampered away as the spear clattered after her.

-----

From her vantage point, Bellona watched the tide of the battle turn and smiled grimly. She dropped down from the ledge, driving her short sword into a rat's head as she did so. Thank the Fates the Srechrrl wore no clothing. It made them easy to identify as her foes in this mad battle where she fought alongside vermin and woodlander alike.

The warrior yanked her blade from the Srechrrl's body and plunged it into a ferret. Before she could free it this time, though, a weasel clamped his jaws down on her arm. She punched his face, paw becoming bloodier with each pass, until he released her, then whirled and sliced open a macabre smile low on his belly. His guts oozed out like drool.

Trying to ignore her new wound, Bellona pressed on.


	79. The End, Part III

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 79. The End, Part III: Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down  
**_by Bellona, Eliza and Revel_

Sagaru's lone eye surveyed the carnage. She frowned. Bodies, friend and foe, were strewn about like discarded playthings. There were beasts dead of spear wounds, of sword thrusts, felled by arrows and slingstones. The bodies were woodlander and vermin, Oasis dweller and Fritterik, young and old, male and female. Life had divided them, but death had made them equals.

A hare loped up to the mouse, saluting with a rusted cutlass. "Root's company sent me t'report that they've cleaned the last of the blighters out of the kitchens and livin' quarters, marm."

"Good." It was. Leftenant Littlebrush had also sent word that the quarry and throne room were clear, and with this cavern also, that meant, theoretically, that the Srechrrl had been completely and utterly defeated. Very good, indeed.

"Unfortunately, there's nothin' left o' the Fritterik. Least ways, we haven't spotted any alive. We figure, they either went chasin' after their pals, or..."

"Or," Sagaru nodded.

The hare waffled slightly in the silence. "And, um. Root's..."

"He'll be fine." His voice had said it all.

"Er... sure he'll..." He looked away, focusing on a random dark tunnel. "So, eh, marm, d'you suppose that's it, then?"

Fates, she _hoped_ so. Of course, there wasn't any clear way to predict these things. One or two of the Srechrrl might have managed to escape the fighting, packed up their sinister brood and vanished into the infinite labyrinth of caves, where the Fritterik would never find them. She hoped to the Fates that they hadn't. The Srechrrl had tortured other creatures, skinned them alive on a whim. Hellgates, they had _eaten_ them. Death was too good for monsters like that.

"It's as finished as it can be for now, Quentin," she said when the silence continued to drag. "The fighting part, anyway."

Fates, it hurt. But right now, she was the Leader of the Heirs of Loamhedge, and she had a job to do.

She tried not to think of him as one of the lucky ones, should she fail.

The hare nodded smartly.

"We found the cure." Sagaru and Quentin looked quickly over at Birch. The squirrel was limping as she joined them and she coughed wetly.

The patch-eyed mouse raised her visible eyebrow. "Where?"

"Among the crystals," Birch explained, pointing to the far side of the lake. "Here in this cavern."

-----

Everybeast stared at the empty patch of stone.

"They're gone?"

Eliza listlessly poked at the shredded remnants of a stalk. She had _held_ the mushrooms, felt them spilling through her claws like a cascade of rich wine. And now they were gone.

A dubious frown split the crags of Kirby's face. "Are ye sure this is where they were?"

Bellona knelt, searching about in the dust. The dormouse picked up a small chunk of fungus, rolling it between her clawtips. "They were here, all right."

"Oy!" called a dark-furred rat, one of Venril's former underlings. "There's another patch right 'ere, b'hind this rock!"

Several necks craned forward. "See!" the rat cried. "Greeny-brown, wi' li'l blue splots on 'em, just like ye said!"

Murmurs of excitement passed from beast to beast. One voice rose above the jabbering throng, slicing through their optimism with a single syllable.

"No."

Everybeast turned to look at Eliza.

"No?" parroted the rat. "Wotdjer mean, 'no?'"

The pine marten folded her arms self-consciously. "Those ones are poisonous."

The rat looked perplexed. "They look jus' fine ter me."

"Eat one if you don't believe me, you wretched little idiot. They're poisonous."

"'Ere," Kirby demanded. "Lemme see that toadstool."

Mutely, the rat obliged. The pudgy ferret squinted briefly at the fungus before throwing it down. One glance was enough. "Harrumph. Th'snarky little lass is right. This'un's poison enough ter make ye puke yer guts out within a day."

Revel picked it up and sniffed it curiously, before wrinkling her snout. "Aye."

"Well, now whadda we do?" the rat implored, casting a doleful look at the forbidden mushrooms.

Bellona turned her gaze to Adriak. The pine marten, held on his knees between Quentin and Greenfang, acknowledged her with a casual smile. The dormouse stormed over and struck the slaver across the face. "All right, vermin, I'll give you one chance to prevent me carving my name into your eyelids. Where are they?"

Adriak's smile didn't waver. "Your precious mushrooms? Why, I'm afraid they're all gone!"

"Delectable, weren't they?" Kelly purred.

Bellona snarled in disbelief. "You ate them? _All_ of them?"

"Oh, but of course. Your beasts traveled quite an impressive distance to claim them, and you put up such a valiant fight against uneven odds. We couldn't help but sample a dish capable of inspiring such a... _profound_ level of passion."

"Besides," Kelly put in, "everybeast knows that nothing seasons otter meat _quite_ like freshly-picked mushrooms."

The pair shared a repulsive tinkling laugh.

"If you know where more can be found, vermin, you _will_ tell us," Sagaru commanded, cutting them off.

Kelly and Adriak shared a knowing grin -- neither spoke.

Bellona gritted her teeth together and approached the pine marten, grabbing hold of the tuft of fur atop his head and jerking it up so he was forced to stare into her cold eyes. They didn't have time to play the slavers' games. "Final chance, scum."

Adriak remained stubbornly silent, his infuriating grin stretching up to his ears.

The dormouse released his head and stepped back, her jaw set and eyes narrowed. "You two," she snapped at his guards, "take him to the water."

"Leftenant, what are you doing?" Sagaru demanded as Quentin and Greenfang moved to comply.

"Whatever I have to," she growled, baring her teeth and stalking over to the trio by the underground pool.

Eliza followed, a gross sense of fascination and the tiniest hint of satisfaction driving her footpaws. This arrogant cretin who had dared to insult her beauty was about to receive his just desserts. What would that entail?

Revel slinked forward, as well, wondering what was happening. Were they going to try to wash out Adriak's nasty smell? Maybe she could cut off his tail after and keep it when it was nice and clean. No more marten-scent.

"Blimey!" Quentin gasped as he hauled the marten into the water with Greenfang's assistance. Within a badger's length from the shore they were up to their thighs. "Bally frigid, wot!"

"Yes," Adriak agreed. "Very brisk. Wakes you up in the morning!"

"Stow it," Sagaru growled from the shore, watching as Bellona entered the pool, as well, and instructed the guards to hold tight to Adriak's wrists and make him kneel.

The warrior approached, standing in slightly shallower water -- still it reached her chest given her diminutive stature.

"What happens now, then?" the pine marten inquired mockingly, only his shoulders, neck and head above the water.

"Where are the mushrooms?" Bellona asked, all affect removed from her face and voice.

Adriak smiled and sucked in a deep breath.

The dormouse waited for several seconds, then tangled her claws in the fur atop the marten's head and slammed him face-first into the water. She held him under until he began to fidget, most probably an involuntary reaction as he had remained limp before. She pulled him back up and he gasped.

"Where are the mushrooms?"

"I didn't think you little woodlanders approved of such methods," Adriak observed, grinning again. "How interesting."

Bellona forced his head back under before he could regain his breath fully. Three more times this repeated with the dormouse asking the same question each time. The pine marten began laughing when he was brought up.

On the shore, Eliza gulped and turned away. It was bad enough watching torture when the beast responded properly to pain, but to see this lunatic laughing as he was partially drowned made her insides crawl. She glanced to the side and saw Revel and Kelly staring, enthralled by the scene playing out before them. "How can you watch that?" she demanded of the stoat.

"'E deserves it."

She had no argument for this, and so said nothing as Adriak's choking laughter filled the cavern once more. "You -- huck! -- you really are -- hack! -- a card, my dear!"

Bellona snarled in frustration. She had never dealt with such an insane creature before. Stoic, she could break. Coward, she could threaten. Mad? What could you do with a mad beast?

"This isn't working, Leftenant," Sagaru voiced the concerns of everybeast present. "Bring him here. We'll try something else."

The four sodden creatures stomped back to shore, shivering in the cool air. Adriak was thrown unceremoniously onto the stone floor and Greenfang sat on top of him.

"What 'bout slicin' up 'is face like that lass what's the same species?"  
"We could cut off the git's claws!"  
"Me ole messmate got hisself sat on a spike."  
"How 'bout we stick stones up 'is claws?"

"Quiet!" Sagaru cut off the litany of gruesome suggestions, pinching the bridge of her snout with one paw.

"Erm, m'am!" Quentin piped up, looking a bit green in the gills. He pointed at Kelly. "She said she's got a kit, wot!" His ears drooped with shame at this pronouncement. It was a cruel tactic, to be sure and one he could never be proud of, but they were all going to die!

"Go and see if you can find it," the Heir commanded. "Maybe it's hiding somewhere."

"Oh, please!" Adriak snorted. "Do give me a bit more credit. I've murdered creatures younger than that mongrel hound myself. It's not as if he _matters_ any."

"What!" Kelly snarled, hackles rising. "How can you say that, Adriak? How can you say you don't care about our little Randy?"

"He's a sniveling lout, Keller," the marten replied dispassionately. "And now that he's become a half-faced monstrosity he's hardly fit to serve as Heir to rule the Srechrrl. Why, he's practically a savage himself!"

"You wretch!" Her guards had to hold her tightly as the vixen tried to lunge at her mate. A brief struggle ensued, then Kelly fell limp, seething. "It's on some rocks. That's where we found them last time. In a cavern some ways from here. We were stumbling in the dark, dying, and we found them. I don't know where exactly, but there were these rocks that looked like a bird. The type with webbed feet in ponds, whatever they're called."

"Kelly!" Adriak hissed.

"Hmph! Do whatever you'd like with that stone-hearted sow's ear!"

"I think," Eliza interjected, an inky spring of resentment bubbling up in her, "I have the perfect punishment."

"Oh? I hope the death isn't too quick," the vixen commented, glaring daggers at her partner. He glowered right back.

"Let's put him in one of the caves in the throne room and seal it."

"An excellent idea!" Kelly praised.

"And let's put her with him."

"..._What_?"

-----

The survivors numbered a paltry thirty-four, with five of them barely able to stand due to retching. That left twenty-nine. Thirty-three, Revel pointed out, if one counted Little Rath, Sullen, Pinky and Yikker-vikvichip.

"We're not countin' yer stupid liddle whelps," Skinny Ryun grunted. Revel stuck out her tongue at Skinny, and called him Fatty.

"If I might have everybeast's attention," Sagaru called out, "we need to start searching for these mushrooms right away. If what that vixen said is true, it matches well enough with what we've already discovered. In our search of the Heirs' recordings, we found some references to the mushrooms in connection with a 'waterfowl of stone.'"

"Wot's a 'waterfowl o' stone?'" queried one of the corsairs.

"'S a stone wot looks summat like a duck," Kirby replied.

Sagaru cleared her throat. "Yes. Now, there are a lot of different tunnels down here, so we're going to have to split up in order to cover as much ground as possible. So, I suggest that we all get comfortable with the idea of working with one another. There aren't enough torches or patience in my body to deal with whinging. We can kill each other once we're all healthy again."

"Excuse Oi, Miz Sagaru," said a female mole, raising one claw. The Heir looked at her, right through her, because she saw somebeast else.

"Go on?"

"Oi reckon ev'rybeast shudd bring sumthin' furr markin', so wee'm can foind ee way back hurr."

"Right. Everybeast grab some coal, or some marking stones, and we'll set out."

Somebeast in the ranks began to cough violently.

-----

The twenty-nine venturers reached the first fork in the tunnels almost immediately. After a brief discussion, Sagaru took thirteen other beasts, mostly woodlanders, down the passage on the left. Kirby, as de facto leader of the vermin group, took the remaining fourteen to the right. The two groups nodded a solemn farewell to each other, everybeast knowing that there was a very serious chance that the others would not make it back. Friends bade farewell to friends, comrades to comrades.

Kirby's group plodded along in somber silence, save for the occasional bout of coughing. Revel dragged a piece of charcoal along the craggy walls, making a small irritated face whenever the stone's topography caused a break in the black line. Bellona strode along at the fore, carrying the lead torch. Eliza stayed close to the dormouse, unwilling to be left in the darkness. Eventually, the tunnel widened, and the motley assortment of creatures found themselves standing in an immense grotto, the floor of which was pooled with water.

"Cor!" Kirby remarked, scratching at a flabby jowl. "Ye could fit th'whole o' th'_Bluddrudder_ in 'ere, stem ter stern. Prob'ly under full sail, even."

"But there's no bleedin' stone duck," Skinny Ryun mumbled.

"Chivvers!" Revel announced, crinkling her nose. "It stinks in 'ere."

"Hold," Bellona said, squinting curiously at the sea of faces. "Somebeast is missing. We had fifteen when we split off from Sagaru, but now there are fourteen, including myself. We've lost somebeast."

Kirby frowned. "Look 'round. Anybeast notice any other beast missin'?"

Nervous chattering and harried glances rippled through the group, before the final consensus came back: a searat named Filarski was nowhere to be found.

"Right!" Kirby boomed, his voice echoing about the chamber. "Anybeast see where Filarski nipped off ter?"

A light-furred ferret raised a claw. "I 'eard 'im coughin' an' retchin' summat fierce while we wos walkin' through the tunnels. P'raps 'e just got too sick ter go on, mebbe?"

Skinny Ryun's throat bobbed nervously. "Should we go back for 'im?"

"No." Everybeast turned to look at Kirby. The cook's face was a mask of stone. "Filarski was a good ole mess-mate, but 'e got sick right 'bout th'same time as th'rest o' us. If'n 'e wos too sick ter carry on, that means that th'rest o' us are runnin' low on time, too. We're movin' on."

"Move on to where?" Skinny Ryun asked. "There's two exits."

Sure enough, the torchlight revealed a pair of holes on the opposite end of the cavern.

"We split again," Bellona interjected. The dormouse's eyes had a scarlet tinge to them. "We've got enough torches for two groups to go their own way. If you hit a dead end, follow your charcoal marks back to this cave, and take the other entrance."

"Right," said Kirby. "That's a solid plan. I'll take six with me, an' six of ye will go with th'dormouse."

A good number of the vermin opted to stay with the portly cook. Skinny Ryun and his tagalong ferret volunteered too late, and begrudgingly found themselves drafted to Bellona's group, along with Revel, Birch, and Greenfang. Eliza brought up the rear, grimacing bitterly as the water soaked into her trailing skirts.

As they waded through the shallows, Greenfang scooped a pawful of water and dashed it into his face.

"Wot're you doin', cully?" asked the ferret.

"Geh," said Greenfang, rivulets of water running down his neck. "I'm burnin' up. Must be all this warmth unnerground, eh?"

Revel curled her snout. "Phchew! You smell like sick, Greenfang."

Bellona sniffed warily. Revel was right. The dormouse recalled how Sailpaw had smelled, just before he'd attacked her and Damask. That same scent was here, lurking just on the tail edge of the smells of musty caves and stagnant water. But, it didn't seem to emanate solely from the old weasel. It was dispersed, spread out. It was coming from all of them.

Eliza pawed away a small trail of saliva. Immediately, more welled up to replace it, pooling up between the pine marten's gums. She spat it into the water, composing a mental litany of curses to hurl at Adriak and his brush-tailed trollop. They had better find the wretched mushrooms, and soon. Her throat was beginning to hurt from the persistent coughing.

Near the front of the line, Revel's whiskers twitched. The stoat's teeth felt itchy. She tried to scratch at them with her tongue, but there were a lot of teeth, and only the one tongue to scratch with, and her claws tasted like how Greenfang smelled.

The group reached a sort of shore, and Bellona called a halt. "Everybeast shake the water from your footpaws."

Greenfang's saggy eyebrows curved about each other like dueling eels. "Why?"

"For traction. We need everybeast fit and able to carry a full load of mushrooms back for the rest. I don't want anybeast slipping and wounding themselves."

The motley crew shook their footpaws about, casting small droplets all over the place. Eliza grimly tried to wring some of the moisture from her skirt. One or two greasy drops fell from the twisted hem.

The ferret watched her, mild amusement dancing in his eyes. "Heh," he sniggered. "If ye don't want yer liddle fancy dress gettin' wet, mebbe you'd better just take it off, eh?"

A smack echoed through the cavern.

Greenfang helped the ferret back upright, with an admonishment that this sort of thing tended to happen to those who didn't show proper respect to ladies.

"Gerroff," the ferret snarled, wrenching his arm away. "She jist caught me unawares, tha's all."

Eliza shot him a vengeful glare. She was hardly in a mood to be trifled with.

The seven of them made fairly quick progress, passing through a series of caverns and grottoes. At each one, they would cast about for anything faintly resembling a duck. Occasionally, somebeast would turn up a stray patch of mushrooms, but they were invariably the wrong kind. With the shattering of every false hope, with every violent bout of coughing, the group's progress slowed. When they reached yet another fork, they were practically crawling.

"Right," said Skinny Ryun, his voice choked from retching. "I'll take the passage on th'left. Greenfang, yer with me. You too, Virgill."

Birch made a face at the vermin. "What, you're just going to take the other males and split?"

The corsair's dumpy face leered. "Aye, we're gonna split, an' we're gonna find those mushrooms without havin' any prissy liddle ladies 'round ter slow things down."

Birch snarled in protest, but Bellona cut her off. "If that's what they want, let them go. Every second we waste with petty arguments's a second we don't have."

"Right," Greenfang nodded. The weasel's face was sallow, worn with exertion. "I dunno how well we'll muck on through, wot with me old bones draggin' on be'ind 'em."

"Come with us, then!" Revel chirped.

Greenfang shook his head sadly. "Nah, I'm bound ter stick wi' my crew. But I wish ye the best of luck, lasses. Let's 'ope we find those mushrooms."

Ripping off an awkward salute, the old weasel vanished into the inky blackness after his companions.

The four females continued on in silence. The subterranean corridor continued on for what seemed like an eternity. The floor sloped downwards, and occasionally broke into little ledges that they were forced to jump down. By and by, everybeast was struggling not to overheat, as the fever took hold.

"'M thirsty," Revel complained. "We should've brought some water along t'drink."

"Focus on the goal, stoat," Bellona advised. She could feel each step now. Each movement expended energy she could not afford to lose. "We need to save our breath for - _Argh_!"

Birch leapt at the dormouse's unprotected back. She caught Bellona off guard, knocking the dormouse to the ground.

Bellona grunted in pain as the squirrel's teeth punched into her back. The Leftenant kicked out, her footpaws glancing off of the maddened squirrel. Birch refused to let go, her claws raking at the dormouse's sides. Bellona twisted around, managing to catch the squirrel's throat. Slavering jaws snapped at her face.

_Whock!_

Eliza stared at the crumpled squirrel, breathing heavily. The hammer dropped from her paw with a clunk.

"Hellgates," the pine marten murmured. Her paw felt numb.

Grasping the torch, Bellona stumbled to her footpaws.

All three of them stared down at their fallen comrade. The squirrel's chest rose and fell; her breathing was shallow and wet. Nobeast moved to assist her.

Without a word, Bellona turned and continued down the tunnel. Eliza followed her. Bellona had the torch, after all.

Revel hesitated a second, before picking up the hammer. The stoat tucked it into Birch's twitching paws, and the squirrel clutched as though it were a newborn kit.

"Stupid squirrel."

Revel chased after the receding firelight.

The passage floor warped upwards into a slope. Footing was difficult, but the trio pressed onward. Eliza was the most agile of the three, but her trailing skirts tended to hamper her progress somewhat. Bellona huffed up the slope right behind her. The dormouse still held the torch, which made climbing an exercise in both difficulty and patience. Revel brought up the rear, burdened with pockets full of kits. The stoat picked her steps carefully, lest she fall and squash her coat.

Eventually, the shaft leveled off, only to present a new difficulty. A side tunnel branched away from the main one, stretching off into the blackness.

"Another split," mused Bellona.

"And only one torch left," Eliza grimaced. The pine marten cursed inwardly. How could this be so difficult? Adriak and his harlot had found the mushrooms by _accident_, and here were they, unable to turn up so much as a wilted toadstool.

Revel licked furiously at her teeth. Wicky-chivvers, but they'd been walking a long time. She was tired of walking, and of smelling the horrible stink of disease welling up. Her stomach was growling and rumbling again, too, like she'd swallowed a thunderstorm.

"A fine trouble. Which way d'we go?" she grumbled.

Bellona stared down the passageway. "Well, if we were Adriak and his wench, which passage would we take?"

"Th'smaller one," Revel said. "'s like tree branches. Bigger branches only 'ave got smaller branches. Smaller branches is where you find th'fruit."

"Fair enough," Bellona sighed. There was a miniscule grain of sense in the stoat's logic. The stone waterfowl would be in a cave of some kind, and the smaller passage had to lead somewhere, didn't it?

Eliza glowered, but said nothing. Her throat was sore, and every cough sent stabbing pain through her chest. She just wanted to get the stupid little mushrooms and get out of here.

They walked on, pausing occasionally for a coughing fit or to spit away a mouthful of warm saliva or worse. The tunnel curved about like a primordial serpent, twisting this way and that, before the venturers finally arrived at...

"A dead end," Bellona said grimly. The torch in her paw illuminated a bare expanse of wall.

Eliza reached out, as though harboring some vain hope that the stone wasn't real - an optical illusion, a trick of the light, a mirage, even... Her paw tolled a death knell against the smooth surface. It was horribly solid.

"I... I - hurk! - guess that's it, then. We go back." Bellona gulped and turned around. Her throat was on fire.

"Mmhmm," said Revel, licking a small bit of drool from her lip. "We can follow the line I made." She absently stroked little Yikker-vikvichip. Reacting to her touch, the kit squirmed feebly within the confines of Keane's jacket pocket, gnawing on her claw. None of the other ones seemed to be moving much.

Eliza still stared at the rock. "There's still the fork," the pine marten murmured. "The passage we didn't try, but if that one's empty..."

Nobeast finished the sentence. They didn't have to. They just turned and began despondently trudging back the way they'd come in. Their steps were slow, shuffling, wearied by sickness and despair.

"At least we're not going to Dark Forest alone." Bellona laughed without humor. "We've sent plenty ahead of us."

"Like Adriak and Kelly," Revel said. Her grin was wiped away by a terrible hacking cough.

Eliza nodded, slowly. "And Matukhana."

"Who else?"

"All those children...Tracy, Silverpaw, Arendell, Nona, Giddy. And the hogmaid. She was Baez's mate, I think."

"Sullen," Revel supplied. "Stupid 'edge'og..."

"And that wildcat," Eliza added.

"Keane," mumbled Revel, stroking the lapel of the dead cat's coat.

"And Deadtail."

"Rath," Eliza said, before giving vent to a long, rattling cough.

"Poor Rath," said Revel. Her voice was thin, as though she might vomit.

Bellona's voice was faint. "Sailpaw, and Damask, maybe."

"I hope not," Eliza whispered. She stroked the robin's bangle.

"Liked 'is songs," Revel added, quietly.

Bellona coughed.

"Venril." The voice was faint, indistinct.

"Venril," another voice agreed.

"Venril."

And then there was silence.

The three of them continued walking back towards the delta, straining to breathe as the coughing fits became worse, and the retching stole their breath. One lagged behind, struggling to stay upright. That was all it took. A second beast pounced upon the first, teeth raking across her upraised paw. The third one flew at both of them, howling with pent-up rage.

The torch clattered to the tunnel floor. Somebeast kicked it, sending it spinning away from the combat.

There was scuffling, struggling, and a small shriek of pain. The three fought with each other, teeth and claws bared, panting for breath. Spittle and blood flew everywhere. One of them staggered, slipped. The other two stared at each other, hot saliva dripping from their feverish jaws. They lunged for each other, swaying unsteadily. Feeble blows were traded, before these too stumbled and collapsed.

In the closing darkness, three lay fallen, struggling to breathe.

Only one got up.


	80. Lights Down, Take a Bow

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 80. Lights Down, Take a Bow  
**_by Eliza _

_Inhale._ Beat. _Exhale._ Beat. _In, out, in, out. Do not stop._

The torch was dying.

Eliza blew at the ragged flame. It flared briefly, and then began to wane once more.

She coughed, scattering warm droplets across the floor. _Looks like I'm dying too._

The pine marten stumbled on paws of lead, staggering back towards the side tunnel. A glistening trail of saliva spilled from the corner of her lip. She was briefly infuriated by this, and tension stiffened her neck. She wanted to _bite_ things, sink her fangs into something soft and warm, let the blood well up around her gums. Maybe then they would stop itching. She tried to maneuver her lips against them, but the itch did not subside.

Eliza growled at nothing specific, letting the bass tones rumble along the passageway. She could feel the blind fury lurking at the back of her mind, searching for a way in.

_Can't let that happen._

She'd seen what happened when the fury took hold, watched the infected beasts die in battle, their bloodlust and fury driving them into the enemy spearpoints without a second thought. Then the stupid squirrel had gone insane, and the dormouse, and Revel. Eliza had snapped right back at them, and, just for a moment, things had been a blur of instinct and irrational reaction. Somehow, she'd managed to stagger upright, grab the torch. Somehow she'd found _control_. Without control, there was nothing but tooth and claw.

Everything seared to the touch, and somehow it was also wet. Everything tasted of warm saliva and dripping blood. Though the filter of torchlight, everything was a portrait in black and amber. It was as though she'd somehow slipped from the tunnel and wandered straight into the Hellgates.

She wearily rounded a bend in the tunnel, and broke into a sort of lurching half-run. _The delta's close. It has to be._

The craggy walls became a blur, whistling past Eliza's head as she picked up speed. Her breath came in ragged gasps, trying to fuel the unquenchable fire in her lungs. The torch flickered, barely able to illuminate the curves in the tunnel in time for her to negotiate them.

Adrenaline rushed into veins, stomping down the pain. She felt invincibly strong, though in the periphery of Eliza's mind she was dimly aware that she was very, very ill. Her paw struck an outlying stone, and a current of rage surged into her consciousness. Every stone was hostile, every shadow an enemy to be crushed and shredded apart in her claws. She wanted to kill, and shred, and ravage, and... _No! Run!_

She ran, trying to shut out everything.

Out of the darkness, two pathways opened up. Eliza slowed, panting. Her chest was on fire.

_Which way?_

There was a faint blackish line scrawled along the wall of the tunnel on the right. Staccato thoughts blipped across her mind. _Black line. Revel. Not that way._

She started down the left passageway, and suddenly, everything went black. Well, not everything. The torch was still burning, it just didn't, for some reason, cast any actual light. She could see herself, but nothing around her. She looked down. Her footpaws appeared to be standing on nothing at all. Somehow... that didn't seem odd. It was as though it had always been that way. She couldn't remember it not being that way, come to think of it.

"Hello, Eliza."

_No. It can't be. It can't possibly be..._

The ferret's eyebrow arched in an expression which could have been amorous or amused. It was hard to tell, underneath the crusted blood.

Eliza staggered back. "Verand?"

A wicked smile split the ferret's ragged whiskers, revealing a mass of cracked fangs. "Miss me?"

She didn't say anything. Couldn't.

Verand casually flicked some dried blood from his claws. "I thought not."

Noting her expression, the ferret adopted a querying tone. "Oh, but you thought I was dead? Please, lass. What a preposterously ignorant conclusion, even if it is completely unsurprising, coming from you. I'm very much alive, despite the valiant efforts of yourself and my former 'Captain.'"

_How could he possibly be alive? Venril said he was dead, said he'd disposed of the body..._

Verand smiled knowingly. "Mmm, but that insipid little twerp could hardly be expected to do things right. It takes a special level of incompetence to murder somebeast incorrectly, wouldn't you say?"

_I would, too._ Eliza grimaced, staring at the hideous ferret. His face was a mass of bruises and scabbed-over lacerations. Verand's pupils were large and dark, and she could clearly make out the reflection of her torch, burning deep within his eyes.

He clapped hollowly. "Incidentally, I owe you a 'Brava,' my dear. You really are quite an exquisite actress. I did truly believe that you fancied me, right up until dear old Venril dropped a slab of rock on my head. Imagine my surprise when my intended paramour began hurling insults at me, punctuated with a series of rather churlish little kicks."

"I..."

"It's too late for 'I'm sorry,' Eliza. Besides, you're not sorry in the slightest."

"I wasn't going to say-"

"Yes you were."

"How did you-"

Verand rolled his eyes. "You are, despite my previous mistake, disgustingly predictable. Incidentally, you would ask, 'What am I going to say now?' except that I just said that you would, so now you won't."

"What-"

"...Except that you're a contrary little wench and will say it anyway. Don't try to be clever. It doesn't become you."

Eliza harrumphed at him. "What do you want, Verand?"

"Besides the obvious?" The dark pupils twinkled lecherously. "Oh, I suppose I want revenge, probably. Who cares what I want? What you want, on the other paw, is far more interesting. Tell me, Eliza, what do you want?"

_I don't know what your stupid game is, ferret, but I don't want any part of it._ "I want you to get out of my way."

"Stop evading the question, my dear."

Anger boiled in Eliza's throat. "I'm not-"

"Yes," Verand said firmly. "You are. You always do, when the question is too difficult."

Eliza shifted awkwardly. This conversation had taken an incredibly uncomfortable turn. She should run away. Would have, actually, if there'd been any semblance of an 'away' to run to.

"Tell me what you want, Eliza."

"Why do you care what I want? Other than the fact that you're a creepy, predatory marauder?"

For just a brief moment, he looked... concerned. "Because you don't know what you want."

Eliza curled her lip disdainfully. "Of course I know what I want! I want to get some miserable little mushrooms so that I can prevent myself from dying."

"To what end?"

"To the end of continuing to live, thank you very much."

"And, chasing the pathway of that thought to its logical destination, you want to go home. But, what in the Hellgates _for_? Do you honestly think that the stuffed-shirt vassals of pomp and circumstance will welcome you back? You're nothing but a wretched, contemptible, hideously scar-faced little baseborn tramp. Look at Eliza Lacrimosa, they'll say. Look at how wretched she is. How miserable."

"Shut your mouth, ferret," Eliza growled.

"How pathetic!"

Eliza screamed at him. "Shut up!"

The ferret's voice rose in pitch, his accusations clanging and bonging in her ears. "How hideous! How pitiful!"

_"Shut up!"_ she shrieked again.

Verand's voice became smooth again. "They've always said it, Eliza, and you've always been able to write it off as the jealous griping of the envious. But, now that you're hideous, you've got to face the possibility that maybe, just _maybe_, they've been right about you all along."

The ferret's words struck Eliza like a slaver's lash. "No," she whispered.

"Yes. Stop pretending, Eliza Lacrimosa. Do yourself a favor and, just this once, be honest with yourself. You don't want to go home. You're afraid to."

"Eliza?"

Eliza turned. Revel was ambling towards her, one claw busily rooting up her nose.

"Revel? Where did you come from?"

"I followed you down the tunnel, _actually._" The stoat snorted mightily, examined her sticky clawtip, then licked it. Smacking her lips, Revel looked about with obvious confusion. "Who were you talking to?"

"I was talking to... him." The last word came out with entirely too much hesitation. Verand grinned.

Revel blinked. "To who?"

"Verand." The ferret waved condescendingly.

Small wrinkles furrowed Revel's snout. "There's nobeast there, Eliza."

Eliza exploded. "Of course there is! He's right there! He's waving at you, you idiot!"

Revel stiffened as if she'd been struck. "How dare you! You stupid, insignificant wretch!"

"What?" Eliza's tail bristled.

The stoat's face was hard and mean. "You're an idiot! Verand isn't here! There's nobeast there!"

"Don't be a fool! He's –" She looked back. Verand smiled at her.

"You're hallucinating."

Eliza was momentarily surprised. Polysyllabic words had always seemed hopelessly beyond Revel's grasp. The stoat could only have picked up a gem like "hallucinating" after several seasons of constant repetition. But she was definitely not seeing things. Verand was there – right bloody there! – and Eliza said so.

"No, he's not."

"Watch this, then, Flabgut!" To illustrate her point, Eliza snatched up a small rock, and hurled it at the grinning ferret. It passed right through him. Verand regarded this incident with an indifferent blink.

Eliza gawped. _This... this doesn't make sense._

"Of course it doesn't make sense!" Revel butted in. "You're going mad! The stupid disease is getting into your head."

"No!" Eliza protested.

Revel folded her arms doubtfully.

_No... it's... it can't be..._

"Revel?" called out another voice. "Eliza?"

"Leftenant?"

The battle-scarred dormouse stumped into view. "Hmph," she sniffed, as though she wanted to chastise the pair of them for leaving her behind, but had since thought better of it.

Eliza nodded a welcome to the Leftenant. The dormouse glared back. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to catch up to you in the dark?"

Revel sniffed, paws akimbo. "I'd watch out if I were you. Eliza's talking to invisible beasts."

The dormouse gave Eliza a dubious smirk. "Really?"

"I am not! I was talking to Verand."

"Verand's dead, Eliza."

Verand began laughing.

"No!" Eliza felt like strangling the pair of them. "He's standing right there!"

The dormouse's face softened. "Eliza... are you having hallucinations?"

Eliza stared at the void where Verand had been. She couldn't really be mad... could she? Wouldn't she _know_ if she was insane? Everything was confusing. "I... I don't know. I might be."

"She was," said Revel.

The Leftenant shook her head. "No, Eliza. I mean _right now_. Are you hallucinating?"

Eliza stared curiously at the dormouse, as the pieces of a very odd puzzle began to click into place. "How did you get here?"

The woodlander sniffed airily. "I followed you and Revel, back the way that we came."

"But I was running. You two couldn't possibly have caught up with me this quickly."

Revel waved a dismissive paw. "We ran too."

"In total darkness, you ran, without running into anything? For that matter, why weren't either of you breathing hard?"

The dormouse frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

_She's evading the question._ "You're not actually here, are you?"

The Leftenant began to sputter an argument, but Eliza cut her off. "What's your name, dormouse?"

"Leftenant," the dormouse huffed.

"No. Your real name."

"I..."

Eliza smiled triumphantly. "You don't know it!"

"...Because you don't know it," the dormouse finished. "And if I'm a figment of your imagination, I only know what you know. And that's why Verand knew everything that you were going to say."

"And why I know how to speak polysyllabic words without sounding like an idiot," said Revel.

"You're not real..." Eliza whispered.

Revel and the Leftenant grinned.

And suddenly she was alone.

Just ahead of her, the tunnel opened up, into a cavern.

Her head was pounding like blazes. The adrenaline had gone, and her various injuries began to throbbingly bemoan its absence. Eliza stumbled into the opening, holding a paw to her aching ribs. Water splished about her paws.

This new cave was _huge_. Its roof arched up beyond the reach of the torch, but there was a dim ray of light, filtering down through the gloom. She couldn't quite make out its source.

In the radiant shaft, there was a large chunk of stone, which, when she looked at it just right, matched up with the crags of a rock formation behind it to form... a bird. Eliza approached it. It looked, actually, a bit like Damask. Or rather, how Damask might look with no wings, and a calcified slab of rock where the bill ought to be, and with a curvy sort of neck, like serpents had. _Duck,_ burbled her thoughts. _'s a duck. Stone. Stone duck. Mushrooms._

Her ears were full of clanging and dripping. Her paws were unstable, causing her to sway slightly. She sank to her knees, and the moisture soaked into the front of her skirt. She felt very tired.

_Nono. Mushrooms. Need 'em. Gotta gettem._

She forced herself up, staggering towards the rocks. They had to be here somewhere.

Verand appeared, leaning casually against a bit of geological avian anatomy. "Give it up, Eliza. Just go to sleep."

She wanted to. _Hellgates,_ she wanted to. But the mushrooms were here. Had to be. _Somewhere by the stupid ruddy duck, they should be..._

There.

Just at the edge of the sunlight, a few blue-speckled sentinels rose from the lichen and stones. She snatched one up, and, as a momentary warning blared in her head, checked the gills. _Yellow. Safe._

She ate it.

It was grubby and dirty, it smelt of dank caverns and musty squalor, and it tasted like dirt. She didn't care. She ate another, and another.

"You think this is real?" Verand said.

Eliza nodded, her mind beginning to slowly descend from the heights of panic. "If it were a dream," she decided, "the mushrooms would taste better."

He smiled, and began to fade away. "Clever."

"I always am."

=~=~=~=~=

Eliza's footpaws still ached, as she headed down the passageway, following Revel's scrawl. Her chest still felt bruised and crushed. Her throat was still miserably raw. But she was _alive_. And there were things to do.

The torch crackled. She'd tried feeding it some little bits of moss, but there hadn't been much that was dry. She kept it alive with some bits of material torn from the hem of her skirts, which the fire devoured instantly. Watching the fabric curl and burn had been a remarkably sobering experience.

In her other paw, the pine marten clutched a small clump of mushrooms. _Not enough to cure all of the rabble, but it'll do for Revel and the dormouse._

She hesitated. _...Assuming they're alive. Assuming they're not howling and drooling and that they don't try to tear my face off the second that I come around the bend._

Biting her lip, Eliza tip-pawed to the corner. No snarling phantasms leapt from the blackness. The torchlight caught the two figures, sitting slumped with their backs to opposite walls, right where they had fallen. They didn't appear to be moving.

There was a faint snuffling sound coming from the shadows.

Eliza edged closer. Her footpaw encountered something small and furry. It let out a plaintive mewl. She lowered the torch. One of Revel's kits twitched its nose at her.

"Stupid," Revel murmured, eyes still closed.

Eliza looked up. "What?"

"Told 'em t'go, but they just totter 'round an' whine. Stupid things."

"Revel," Eliza said patiently, "wake up. I found the mushrooms."

"Don't wannem. Want otters."

Eliza smacked her across the face. "Take the mushroom!"

Revel's eyes snapped open, and she rubbed her jaw. "Why?"

"Because you need it. It'll make you better."

Glowering, Revel took the fungus and chewed it up. "Tastes yucky."

"I know."

"M'head 'urts."

"You'll feel better soon," Eliza tossed back, turning to the dormouse. The woodlander's head lolled to the side. A long tendril of drool hung from her chin.

"Dormouse," Eliza tried, shaking the Leftenant's shoulder.

One reddened eyelid slowly cracked open. "Freyr."

Eliza paused.

"Freyr," the dormouse said again, staring into empty space.

"Okay... Freyr. I got the mushrooms. Here."

The dormouse sighed absently, her ears drooped. One frail paw took the mushroom. The Leftenant chewed slowly.

Eliza attempted to fill the stretching silence. "So... your name is Freyr."

The dormouse shook her head.

"No?"

Another shake. "Mm-mm. Bellona."

"Bellona."

_That's a nice name,_ Eliza thought, easing herself to the ground.

_You know what else is nice? Sitting. It would be nice to sit here for a while._ She closed her eyes. _A long while._


	81. The Rest is Silence

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 81. The Rest is Silence  
**_by Bellona_

_Freyr?_

Bell could only half-understand the apparition in front of her as it forced some repulsive thing into her paw and she chewed it slowly. It couldn't be Freyr because Freyr was dead, Freyr only gave her good food to eat... and Freyr knew her name.

Several minutes stretched out as the torch flickered and sputtered casting haunted shadows on the walls around them. A kit squeaked, and then all was quiet.

-----

_"You have to get up, Bells," Freyr whispered, his whiskers tickling her ear as he nuzzled his snout into the hollow between her head and shoulder._

"Go 'way," Bell grumbled into her pillow, flicking her ear at the offending whiskers. "M'first day back from 'trol, m'llowed t'be lazy. Cap'n said."

"Not today," Freyr insisted, pulling lightly at the covers his wife clung to like a limpet. "Today, you have to get up and find mushrooms for dinner."

"I c'n fin' mushrooms later; they don' move."

"Get up, Bells." This time more stern. "Now."

"Why?" she finally rolled over and he smiled down at her, blood dripping from the lacerations on his kind face.

"Because you have to."

-----

Bell's eyes snapped open, her breath coming in fast, ragged gasps. The remains of the torch smoldered just to her left near the paw of -

"Lac...rimos...a?" the dormouse managed around a throat that felt like she'd swallowed the desert outside. The marten did not respond immediately. "Rev...el?" Bell tried instead.

"What?" came the faint response in the gloom.

"We're alive."

"Glad you noticed," Eliza groaned.

"We need...to get moving. Where are the...mushrooms?"

The trio staggered to their footpaws, Bell grabbing up the torch and adding her bandanna for fuel. She coughed a moment, then stared at Eliza, knowing it must have been her. Hated that it had been her.

"Lead."

-----

"Fifteen vermin and sixteen woodlanders left," Birch reported, twirling her hammer unconsciously in one paw.

Birch, Bell, and Sagaru sat about a dying bed of coals as the sun sank for the second day since they'd left the cursed caves behind, loaded down with mushrooms. All three creatures were haggard from their ordeal, but it was Sagaru whose fur had begun to whiten prematurely and whose battle scars stood out most beneath her fur.

So, to relieve her of further suffering, Birch had taken on the unenviable task of marking off the dead as they passed. "Ash pulled through last night, but that otter friend of hers, Flikker, he was too far gone for the cure to work, really.

"Um... I guess I should say... I've decided I'm going back home, back south with Captain Kirby and the rest when they leave.

"I like the Oasis all right," she added hastily as Sagaru opened her mouth to protest. "But I lost the shell that otter gave me, and I have my smithy to run... if Ara hasn't taken it over yet." The squirrel's eyes narrowed for a moment and she smacked the head of her hammer into one paw heavily, as if daring an invisible creature to try to steal her beloved premises.

"But, right. That's all I wanted to say."

"Thanks for your help, Birch," Bell half-smiled at the passionate -- yes, 'passionate,' was a much better descriptor than 'obsessed' or 'fanatical' -- blacksmith. "You fight good."

The squirrel cocked her head to one side and mock-saluted. "Never was there a grander compliment, Leftenant!" With a light chuckle, she sauntered off to find dinner.

Birch would be able to live with this experience -- that was comforting to know.

"Well... I think that's everybeast accounted for then," Sagaru mused. "Ash and Flikker were really the last two who were touch and go on our side."

It had been a mad dash out of the tunnels, stopping now and again as they came upon bodies, some breathing, many not.

Mushrooms in paw, the trio had scurried back as fast as they could with their dying torch, sickened bodies, and Revel's scrawl to guide them. They came upon Birch first, and Bell held a shaking paw to her mouth. A tiny puff of air had warmed her clawtips. Bell had pried open the squirrel's jaws, stuffed a mushroom in and worked her mouth feverishly for a moment. She had then clamped her paws around Birch's mouth and nose and tipped her head back. A beat, and then the squirrel had swallowed reflexively.

They continued on, repeating the pattern on what felt like hundreds of beasts, but could not have been more than a score. Each time, they waited a moment to catch their ragged breaths and then slapped the recently-cured beast awake. Greenfang's group had been saved after Birch -- their torch commandeered for the greater good -- and then only four of Kirby's group, including the ferret himself.

They found part of Sagaru's group scattered near the first delta, some farther back into the branching tunnel. They had hit a dead end, and tried to return. Seven of these creatures still had life and sanity enough worth saving.

Nearly everybeast in the Oasis had been dead by the time they reached it, but there had been a few beasts made of tougher stuff... and one lone hedgehog tending over the dying, not a scratch or bite upon him. There had been no sign of Medjool, either in the caves our outside -- just as well.

"It's a bit unfair, though," Sagaru continued when Bell did not reply. "Those vermin have been fine since the first day. Pertinacious brigands.

"But what do we do with them now, Leftenant?" The mouse sighed and directed her solemn gaze toward the huts where the few remaining vermin congregated.

"Send them home," Bell advised without pause, her shoulders hunched and head lowered, staring at the sand near the base of the rock she perched on. A light breeze swirled it in miniature whirlwinds that wiped out any attempt to shape or conform it into something a beast could want or use.

That was the desert: nobeast could control it and nobeast really wanted to, save lunatics and morons.

"Oh?" The mouse sounded genuinely surprised.

The warrior looked up and met Sagaru's sad, brown eye. The old maid had been through the fires of Hellgates and back the last few weeks with the corsairs, the plague, the battle...and Root. Bell had not witnessed the pair together often enough to see their affection for one another, but it was implicit in every misstep and caught breath when the topic of conversation turned to the list of the dead.

"I was going to suggest that, but..."

A wry smile crept across Bell's features. "But what? Thought I'd say live and let die? That sounds like me, doesn't it, m'am?" She shook her head and glanced beyond the Heir, spotting Eliza's unmistakable form slinking about a longbow's shot away. "Any other day..."

She couldn't name the feeling that tempered her otherwise harsh judgment -- it ran somewhere between begrudging gratitude, loathing, and weariness.

Venril's beasts would live because of Bell's agreement with their captain. The stoat had upheld his part of the pact and remained neutral, even if he had proved as incompetent as a mole on a tightrope in the end. Matukhana's demise and Kirby's ascension to the captaincy meant that she had no immediate quarrel with the corsairs. And then there was -

_Lacrimosa._

Much as Bell hated to admit it, she owed the marten her life. Granted, the dormouse had saved Eliza's hide more than a few times. But the prissy wench hadn't just saved Bell; she'd saved everybeast. Eliza had had the strength to stand and keep walking, to reason instead of fight, and to find the mushrooms when her mind was clouded with fever and every bit of her body was breaking down.

_It should've been me. I'm better than her!_

Bell tried to suppress the shudder of self-reproach that clawed its way down her spine. She was the fighter, the leader, the one who had lived through torture and starvation and war. Eliza was just a manipulative vermin strumpet.

_...And she saved us all._

Oh, it had been in her best interest. The pine marten never would have done something heroic out of the goodness of her heart, but where could you draw the line? Did actions make a beast a hero, or the reasons behind those actions?

_Waxing philosophical, Littlebrush?_ she scoffed at herself.

"Any other day," Bell continued after a long silence, "I'd say wipe the worthless blackguards out, but I'm tired of fighting a battle that everybeast's already lost.

"I'm going home tomorrow." The sudden revelation startled her as much as it did Sagaru. "I'll take along anybeast willing to come, but I doubt there'll be many. By my guess, most'll stay here or head south. Why step out of a bloodbath and into a slaughter? Ha!"

"Home? To another war?" Sagaru shook her head in disgust. "Don't you think you've fought enough, Leftenant? Why not stay here with us? The Oasis is going to take a long time to rebuild with so many good creatures lost. You've shown you know how to lead beasts well. I could use a creature like you at my side... And then there're the Fritterik to look after. We can't ignore them anymore, not when we have the cure to their plague and the Picture Mountain cave is open."

Bell stopped, seriously considering the offer for five seconds, and then dismissed it. She had more work to do yet, and it was elsewhere.

That knowledge seeped into the warrior's core, down to her weary bones and it infused her with a manic energy she would have associated with the plague if not for the mushrooms she and the rest had harvested and eaten so dutifully the past few days.

"I don't think so, m'am," she refused. "I have to find Damask and make sure he made it out of here alive. And then there's Nashald and his scum to kill."

Bell shrugged, reason asserting itself. "I'll need to get a bit of help for that, but no children this time, m'am. I want _proper_ warriors with seasons behind them and more yet to come because they know how to fight and think on their footclaws. I want to take the offensive instead of just running and hiding, though that's useful now and again. I want weapons that aren't rusted to the hilt and armor that can actually protect a beast. I want a captain who knows how to take every tactical advantage given and to _Hellgates_ with honorable warfare! I want -"

"You want to win," Sagaru concluded.

"Yes, m'am," Bell agreed. "I want to win."

The dormouse watched as a succession of emotions crossed Sagaru's face culminating in a drawn brow and forced smile. She stuck out her paw and Bell took it. The Heir and warrior shook once, twice, thrice, released.

"Good luck to you then, Leftenant," Sagaru said. "I'll ask the Fates and my ancestors to make safe your journey, though the destination, I fear, can be no safer than an Oasis under siege by pirates."

"Thank you, m'am." The warrior took a step back and saluted. "May the Fates smile upon your endeavors."

The mice turned away from each other, then. Sagaru went to convince the other woodlanders that life in the Oasis could be preferable, and Bell marched toward the vermin huts. There were still a few matters to conclude.

-----

"Lacrimosa."

The vermin scattered around Bell, neither acknowledging nor ignoring her completely, but keeping a 'safe' distance.

"What, Scarface?" the pine marten, ignoring the wary actions of her fellows, approached, the rags of her dress swaying from her thin frame. She looked a gaunt mess, but admittedly, she was holding up well under the adoration of everybeast from Southsward to Mossflower.

_Rightly deserved adoration,_ the cursed voice of reason whispered in Bell's mind. She didn't want to say what she had to next, but she knew it needed saying -- for herself if not the marten.

"Thank you." Bell made an abrupt about face and strode away.

"Wait, what?" Eliza demanded, catching Bell up and snapping her grimy claws for attention.

The dormouse closed her eyes, relaxed her clenched jaw, and exhaled slowly. Then, she spun and stared straight into the detestable vermin's face. "Thank you." She inclined her head a fraction, then snapped it back up. "You saved all of our lives. I know you don't care... You're a despicable, self-important, conniving strumpet who only acts to benefit herself - "

"How _dare_ you," the marten began, ears jutting forward and sharp white teeth appearing beneath her drawn lips. She pointed an accusing claw dynamically at Bell's face. "Why, you're the ugliest, most ungrateful, crudest little ragamuffin I've ever been cursed to associate with. I don't doubt it will take a full season to get the stink of you out of my fur and memory! Have you even considered that I was the one - !"

"Thank you," Bell repeated, interrupting the tirade and slapping Eliza's paw away as if she were a bothersome insect. "There're good, honest beasts alive today because of you. You should be proud of that, marten. Goodbye, now. Wave your claws at me again and I'll cut them off." The dormouse turned away, and this time Eliza did not follow.

"I don't need you to tell me what I should be proud of, Scarface!" The marten spat at her back.

"Yes," the warrior called over her shoulder, "you do."

And that left just one last creature...

-----

Of course, it couldn't be simple. She found the object of her search sitting beneath a coconut palm, but they had an audience.

"Baez." Bell acknowledged the hedgehog with a nod and then shifted her gaze. "Stoat."

While Baez returned with a weary hello, Revel held her silence, staring vacantly out at the desert while she rubbed the dusting of fur atop one of her kits' heads.

The dormouse took a breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. She had to say this, Baez or not.

"Stoat," Bell hurried to force the words out of her mouth before her better judgment could stop her, "you're poison. Worse than that, you don't even realize it."

"What?" Revel's head swiveled toward her, snout wrinkled in confusion.

Baez had the presence of mind to lower his ears and stare anywhere except at the warrior and vermin. "Something got into you," Bell continued, "some _disease_ that can't be cured, that makes you like those Fritterik, but worse. So much worse because you're big enough to be a threat and stupid enough to put a beast off her guard."

The dormouse scratched at the back of her neck and eyed the vermin from the corner of her eye. Revel's ears had gone back and her hackles risen at the word 'stupid.'

"I think thee are being unkind, Leftenant," the hedgehog finally interjected. "Revel's suffered through so much, and she helped my Suellyn, and she's just had to cure her new kits of this plague. How can thee call her 'poison' and 'disease?' She's brought new life into this world. _Beautiful_ new life." He spread his paws above the kits and Bell briefly considered stabbing each of them in turn then and there, but refrained. She didn't want to deal with the problems that would inevitably precipitate before her departure.

"Beautiful?" she asked instead. "From a monster who tries to kill and eat intelligent beasts for sport? Who's so enthralled with her own base instincts it's a wonder she even walks on two footpaws? No. That's not beautiful, Baez. That's disgusting."

"They're not disgustin'!" Revel protested, then fell silent, eying the kits closely and biting at her lip in what must have passed for thought in the empty space between her ears.

"I hope you die, Revel," Bell concluded bluntly. "You _and_ your Hellspawn, before you can wreak havoc on your next unsuspecting victim." Her eyes lingered a moment Baez's gaping jaw and wide eyes, and then she stalked away, conscience lighter somehow.

That creature, Revel, should never have borne kits. She would corrupt them and they would become ignorant killing machines like their mother. Praise the Fates she was headed in the opposite direction. Bell had no desire to ever set her sights on the feral stoat again... or Eliza, or any of the corsairs, or Venril's lads, for that matter.

_No,_ she assured herself. There were other vermin she wanted to see and destroy now -- mainly, Nashald and his horde.

But first: a musical interlude with a wayward robin.


	82. Until Then, She'll Live in Wonder

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 82. Until Then, She'll Live in Wonder  
**_by Revel_

_Three stoatkits had been left in a pile some distance from Revel. They did not seem to be making any progress, preferring to writhe inward on the pile than follow the tunnel as they'd been instructed._

The fourth, Revel held firm against her chest. Its mouth foamed, and it twitched violently. Revel gently wiped the foam away and hugged it tighter still as the twitching became spasms. They continued for far too long before they stopped.

Revel never blinked.

* * * * * *

Revel sat in the shadow of the coconut palm, next to Rath's grave. The dirt in one corner was darker brown than the rest. Keane's coat was spread out in front of her like a picnic blanket, three kits dozing serenely in a patch of sunlight.

She rolled a mushroom around in her paws, thinking.

Thinking was not something Revel was very good at. It wasn't something she had to do very often, so everybeast else generally had more practice than her, and so she felt a little embarrassed when she tried to do it in company.

But she was alone now, alone as a new mother could ever be, and she was thinking that there was something very funny about the mushrooms. They weren't the same ingredient as found in brkich soup, but she had the feeling she had seen them somewhere before. Maybe in the Fritterik caves, the time she'd gone off exploring with Trpcic and Zhipzi. She had a sneaking suspicion that a lot of things could have been avoided if they'd simply thought to ask her, but of course nobeast had thought of that.

She'd had no idea they were even after the mushrooms, until after the fighting...

Revel picked up the half-shell of a coconut already filled with a bit of her milk, dropped the mushroom into it, and began stirring with her knife. It probably wasn't _her_ knife - not the one she'd left in the toolshed at the edge of the field. The toolshed was gone now, taken down and stacked up for lumber that they no longer had the numbers to put to good use.

Kirby and the corsairs had decided to go with everybeast else, rather than wait around and fix a ship they couldn't reasonably crew.

There was a lot of packing to do to get out of the desert. Canteens to be filled with clean oasis water, fish to catch and smoke for later, sails to be stitched up into proper tents instead of the shoddy lean-tos the corsairs had been using. And a whole lot of beasts to bury.

Baez crunched towards her and sat down in the sand.

"One of the old slaves told me everything," he said after a while. Revel stirred her mixture in silence.

"Some vermin... left thee in my parent's cottage, Su told them. They killed my mother and my father, and left thee." He shook his head, disbelieving. "And she took thee to find thy mate, and by all the chances of fate, thy journey ended here, of all places. With my Su. She gave thee this - " His paw reached out to brush at her headscarf; Revel smacked it away and glared.

"'s mine."

"Yes," he agreed. "It is. A gift to a new mother. She looked after thee as best as she could. And then..." Baez sniffed, falling silent.

"Th'snake with legs ate 'er," Revel finished. "After Nivard killed 'er."

"Y-yes."

The stoat paused in her stirring and looked up at Rath's headstone; just words carved into the trunk of the coconut palm, words she couldn't decipher in the slightest.

"What's that say?"

"Rath the Whirlwind," Baez read. "'Tis all. Just his name. Does thou need help?"

"I've done this b'fore," Revel grunted, trying to keep Pinky (or perhaps Little Rath) still and hold his mouth open with one paw, while getting her other paw, one claw laden with mushroom-mulch, into his maw without scratching him. The little stoat squealed and fought, wanting to go back to sleep.

Baez reached over and lay a calming paw on the kit's belly, scritching gently under the chin. Pinky leaned back and relaxed in Revel's lap, at last accepting his dose.

Revel put him back down and picked up Sullen. She paused before scooping her claw into the mixture again; she was still thinking. Slowly, but surely, like a tree growing out of the sand.

"'Er name's Sullen," Revel said.

"That's, er, a nice name," Baez said.

"Aye. I like it. 's a nice name. She was a nice 'edgehog."

Realization dawned.

"Suellyn?"

"Don' be stupid. Sullen, I just said. 's Sullen."

They gave the little stoat her dose and prepared for the next.

"An' I think," Revel said, "that maybe I'm sorry."

Baez looked at her steadily, then turned away at another voice calling to them.

"Baez," said the funny-looking mouse, approaching. "Stoat."

* * * * * *

It was getting on toward evening when a commotion was heard behind the falls. Everybeast, though tired and wounded, went to arms and stood at the ready near the cave opening.

The voices, babbling, wild, echoing, grew louder, and then stopped one by one as they stepped, blinking, into the sun.

"Weapons down!" somebeast called. "It's the Fritterik!"

They were all stoats and weasels, most of them bloodied and looking even more haggard than the beasts outside. They squinted and blinked; some cried, and tried to turn back. One little weasel would have none of it, and pushed these attempted deserters out into the sand.

"Look! Big warm! Look, color water! _Look!_" Somebeast trying to cover up his eyes was smacked across the face and turned to face a clump of reeds. "This named grass! Tastes nice!"

"Wicky-Chivvers! Zhipzi?" Revel said, recognizing the voice and pushing her way through the crowd of defenders.

"Rivvil!" Zhipzi grinned hugely, then backed away. "Urr... ihnin skweck Zhipzi?"

"Ihn!" Revel assured. She hugged her friend tight.

The one-eyed mouse, Sagaru, considered them with a thin-lipped smile.

"You speak their language, stoat? Like Baez can?" The hedgehog, not being a fighter in the least, had been ordered to stay behind during the initial ruckus.

"Aye."

"Ask her if there are any of those Sritcherl beasts left."

Revel shrugged and turned back to Zhipzi.

"What 'appened to th'Srechrrl?" she asked plainly.

"All die!" Zhipzi beamed. Sagaru had the decency to look suitably embarrassed about her request, but nodded happily at the news.

"We chase and chase and chase," Zhipzi said, making little movements with her paws, "and throw rocks and big wood mivik - "

"Spears," Revel said.

" - and we lost and find Picture Mountain, and Fritterik say, Want go home, and Zhipzi say, Home this way. Heehee. I trick them!"

The crowd had largely dispersed now, too tired and uncaring to deal with the Fritterik's moaning and griping over their new environs. Only a few of Sagaru's heirs and one or two of Venril's soldiers tried to instill any sort of order among the semi-panicked mob.

"Urr... we very hungry now," Zhipzi added. "Only eating brkich mushroom." Sagaru sighed.

"Stoat - Revel? - could you take this lot to Kirby and see what he can do?"

Revel scanned the Fritterik nervously. There did not seem to be any female ferrets. She nodded.

With all the fishing that was going on, Kirby's hut was a sauna of delicious scents. A fire had been constructed just outside, where the vermin could eat and talk in the subtle desert breeze. The Fritterik crowded around, unheeding of the concept of personal space. Not everybeast minded - one weasel corsair had an expression on his face of somebeast who's been told his footpaws are made of gold, as two barely-dressed Fritterik weaselmaids sat on either side of him and began grabbing at the food in his coconut-bowl.

Kirby poked his head out of the kitchen momentarily, stared at all the skin-and-bones mustelids that had suddenly appeared, and said, quietly, "Hellgates." He vanished again, and more smoke poured out of the windows.

Soon after the sun had finished setting, a platter of fish was passed around. Stories and songs were drowned out by the squelching of barbaric mastication, which soon degraded into a belching contest between the corsairs and Venril's soldiers. The contest was cut short as one of the bigger Fritterik males downed half a canteen of coconut milk and produced a noise so magnificently disgusting that everybeast's fur began to look a tinge green.

It wasn't long after that the effects of the coconut juice began to be felt more widely, and the Fritterik curled up in a giant pile to sleep it off. The rest of the vermin settled down for a full evening of warmth and rest. As much rest as they could get, anyhow.

Skinny Ryun stared across the fire at Revel, transfixed. The stoat was leaning back against a cut-down palm trunk, using her coat and paws as a pillow, her elbows butterflying to either side of her face. Her kits were asleep in a sling across her chest - every day she was finding more uses for her headscarf. She appeared to be asleep, except...

"Cor, Crink, ye've finished eatin' harf an hour ago! Stop lickin' yer face already! Makin' me 'ungry all over again..."

"A fine trouble. My whiskers still taste like fish," she said, peeping one eye open.

"Phuaw. So why don't ye eat them and spare us that gob-smackin' already? Go feed yer whelps or summat."

Revel sat up. She swore, loudly. She put on her coat, gathered her kits into the pockets, and went to extract Zhipzi from the mound of Fritterik. The dozy weasel yawned and smacked her lips at Revel.

"Zblbl, mm?"

"Zhipzi! _Where is Zubble_?"

* * * * * *

The ferret burbled and babbled on, trying to explain what had happened: Too quick of a change in diet; her own, larger kits biting and scratching too much; not warm enough conditions in the small chamber with her own mate killed in an earlier Srechrrl attack.

Revel didn't listen very well to the excuses, or to the condolences, or to the ferret's own preposterously blunt admission that Fritterik litters had a low rate of survival anyway.

She just held Zubble at arm's length, and cried, because he was too cold, too quiet. His scent was all wrong, and in the dim light of a torch somewhere over her shoulder, she could see the dried foam around his chin.

"I don't know what t'do," she whispered. There were no instincts for this. There was nobeast to explain it to her in ways she could understand. She looked up at the ferret, into the Fritterik's vaguely smiling face. "What do I do?"

The ferret fidgeted a little.

"Make more?"

Revel left, still unwilling to touch the stiff mockery of her son more than she had to. Zhipzi bounded up the tunnel -

"Rivvil! Rivvil find Zubble now, is good?"

- and fell silent, backing herself against the wall as the stoat passed by.

It was Trpcic who found Revel next, and sniffed just twice before discerning the situation. She gently pried Zubble from Revel's paws. Revel made no objections.

"Come with me."

They came to Trpcic's chamber, where the older stoat strode with certainty to the back of the room, stopping just inches from the wall. To Revel's surprise, the ground beneath Trpcic's paws sunk slightly.

"Before the Strong Fangs came to eat from our numbers, we would leave the dead in their birth cave, alone. We would not come back until they had left and took their scent with them. This is my birth cave, and my mother's. All my brothers and sisters were left here, to go wherever they go. All except Yikker-chip, who was taken by the fire that took my sight. Daughter of Yikker-chip, your birth cave is far from here, and your children's birth cave is gone. Will this place do?"

Revel nodded.

Trpcic laid Zubble down in the soft dirt, and stepped back.

"Nobeast shall enter here until he has gone."

"What do I do now?" Revel repeated.

Trpcic took her by the paw and led her away to the main hall. Neither spoke; Trpcic, because she had no answer, and Revel, because she had nothing more to ask.

* * * * * *

She found she could balance the weight in the pockets out by carrying half a canteen of water in one of them. The kits were growing every day, and very soon their coats would start to come in.

Revel herself was still shedding, despite the heat of the desert - once the process started, there was nothing one could do to go back. The nights were cold enough to warrant it anyhow. There was only a thin strip of brown down her back, and a messy patchwork of confusion on her face, mostly around her nose.

Adriak would have called it cute. And then gone on to say how it would make a cute hat for Kelly. Revel twitched at the memory of them.

_A disease... a poison._

She sought out Bellona, and found the mouse resting for her journey by the shore of the oasis pool. Birch and Ash lounged nearby, dabbling their footpaws into the cool water, chattering as only squirrels could chatter. Revel stomped towards them, already shrugging her coat off. She lay it gently in a nest of reeds. The rustling alerted the squirrels.

"Bellona," Birch said, her tone sharp and warning. The mouse cracked her eyes open, stared for a second at a blazing white comet - then her nose cracked open as well.

Birch and Ash tackled Revel, just as the stoat began to wind up her other paw for the next punch. Bellona launched back at Revel, more a reflex than with actual malice, and landed a hit on the stoat's cheek. Revel kicked out, but her footpaw met only air.

"We've got her, we've got her," Ash panted, pushing Bellona away. "We've got her, Leftenant..."

Revel never said a word as the squirrels hauled her off, or as Sagaru chewed her out, or as Baez came with his calm voice to echo Zhipzi's remorseful squeaks, or as Trpcic brought her back to her coat and her kits, or as Eliza, not privy to any of this, said something scathingly witty to her an hour later and got another pawful of sand in her stupid scarred-up face, or during the second round of rows caused by this attack, or when Kirby came and grabbed her arm not very nicely and hauled her off to a hut at the outskirts of the village and told her they didn't need to start up anything further, not now, or as Skinny Ryun came by a few hours later and asked if she would like anything to eat because dinner's almost gone?

She never said a word, and she knew she was being silly about it, because life goes on... Some lives do, at any rate. And talking was important when you were alone and had nothing else to do, nobeast else to share any of it with.

The want burned fiercer than ever: to hide and hole up, to cuddle and curl up, to shred and tear up. But there was no home, no mate, no prey. Not here.

Adriak and Kelly had been so lucky.

* * * * * *

Everybeast soon learned to keep their distance from the stoat, all through the discussions and stages of planning and packing and moving out into the desert; only giving her simple commands such as "carry this canteen" or "collect wood for the fire". It was largely up to Trpcic to speak up for her, and the blind stoat was not very good at the language.

Zhipzi had elected to stay behind. She'd explained, stuttering against deaf ears, that her kits were too unruly for the journey, too young to be left alone - but that she would visit soon, when they were old enough, and she would come find Revel in the forest in the hole under the tree. She had hugged Revel, and licked each stoatkit in turn, and then was gone back into the caves. Trpcic said there was talk of making her Chivkis of the weasels, though it was unlikely, unless Yirika was going to allow new Chivkis their sight now that there was actually something worth seeing.

Trpcic would come along, of course. Revel was all the family she had. And there was a whole world out there, full of scents and sounds and feels. Whether a Chivkis had to be wise to become a Chivkis, or if they were wise _because_ they were a Chivkis... did not matter. It was clear to the old stoat that her wisdom counted for nothing in the face of this monstrous mystery waiting to be explored.

And as the hours crept by towards their final farewell to the Oasis...

It was gone. They were on the move now, once again trekking through the desert. Night for movement, day for warm sleep. And each day that passed was another day Revel did not have to remember any more. The names faded, becoming as hazy in her mind as the horizon. Every uncertain pool of black, blank thought was another inch she stood taller as she walked.

She did not forget Rath, because he was her son. She did not forget Suellyn, because she was her daughter. She did not forget Venril, because Pinky smelled like caterpillar doings. She did not forget Keane because she wore his coat every second of the day. She did not forget Zhipzi, because Trpcic spoke of the weasel often. She did not forget Eliza, because the stupid pine kept walking with the rest of the group...

But the rest were gone now, and every dark event washed away in the wonderful grittiness of being. Revel found she could smile, sometimes, and bounce and roll here and there among the dunes, because life was an adventure that surprised her every morning when she forgot where the sun had gone off to.

They came out of the desert and into scrublands, and still headed south-west even then, until they came to the shore. Revel stared out at the vast ocean as if it were the first time she had ever seen it. And in a way, it was.

They camped, and she took her kits one at a time to splash in a shallow tide-pool while Trpcic looked after the others. They could not see yet, but their brown coats were beginning to come in just a little. Revel thought this was a bit silly of them, because it was beginning to get colder and colder during the day, and it was not long before winter set in for good.

None of the kits were very impressed by being plopped about in salty water, and Sullen set up a frantic squealing when some got in her mouth. Revel noted with glee - and a hint of future horror - that her teeth were starting to come in.

She sat and played with them until Little Rath was bitten by a curious crab, and then swept them up and went to see what was for dinner. She had a feeling it would be fish. Kirby hated crabs. And no wonder.

* * * * * *

"Well, th'one thing you gotta un'erstand about th'_Bluddrudder_... is that she wos cursed."

"Cursed?" Skinny Ryun said dubiously.

"Aye. Cursed." Kirby nodded solemnly, his jowls flapping. "Ever wonder, why we 'ad a bosun, a purser, a helmsbeast, a first mate, a cap'n, but no second mate ter speak of?"

"Er... no, not really."

"'Twos a long time ago, aye... An upstart young ferret saw it all. Cap'n Blueguts, murdered before 'is very eyes! Throat sliced wide open. Th'murderer, Second Mate Filmeye, 'e became Cap'n next, cowin' th'First Mate inter submission. Scarce a season later, we foun' Filmeye, ears stuffed down 'is throat. Ne'er did find th'rest of 'is 'ead! Second Mate Plommel wos th'culprit this time, an' let it known as 'e took o'er th'ship. 'Twos around this time th'stoat we knew as Nivard came aboard, long afores any o' ye were around. A right decent doctor, Nivard wos. Well, not two seasons later, Nivard got promoted ter First Mate, on account o' th'last one quittin'. We'd gone through five more Cap'ns since then, an' th'poor beast just lost 'is nerve, kept thinkin' he wos next. Can't blame 'im, really. An' who would be promoted ter Second Mate next? Ol' rapscallion 'imself, our Cap'n Matukhana."

Kirby grinned as the firelight audience gasped.

"Aye. An' how does I know this? 'Twos me wot done put 'im there!" The vermin gasped more. Kirby shook his head. "But I was a right fool. Aye, I was Second Mate once, an' got too big fer me sea boots. Knocked Cap'n Pickspar around th'head one night an' hung 'im from th'bowsprit. Shoulda stopped there, though. No more. But I 'ad ter go an' threaten th'First Mate as well, an' he scarpered. A good ol' seabeast, 'e wos. Would 'ave liked ter 'ave 'im at my side when I sobered up. An' well, guess wot 'appened next?"

"Matukhana killed yer!"

"Aye - wait, no! I'm sittin' here, aren't I? No, 'e _tried_ ter kill me, aye. Got my one leg off, afore Nivard stepped in. 'E wos a good pal, Nivard. Bein' young corsairs t'gether... I really miss it."

The old ferret stared into the fire and took a draught from his canteen, going quiet.

"Well, 'ow come you lived?" Skinny Ryun asked.

"Simple fact as Matukhana 'ad no choice. Nivard pinned 'im down good, cutlass ter 'is throat. Said as much ter Matty, 'e said: 'Fox, y'can take o'er Cap'ncy, but by 'Ellgates, if ye take my friend's life I will gut yer like a fish.' Matty, well, 'e was no fool. Course 'e agreed! Nivvy patched up me leg, stayed around as first mate, an' Matty never did let anybeast become a second mate un'er 'is command, 'cos 'e knew th'curse as well as anyone. Gone five seasons since then, an' th'_Bluddrudder_'s been fine 'til somebeast let that wretched cat at th'wheel..."

Kirby and spat, prompting the other corsairs to do likewise and mutter curses about the ill-fated steersbeast-substitute.

"I tells yer, mateys... Ye can go where they takes ye, find a new ship at Crittenden. Maybe join ol' Proklyan's lads an' get a fancy green tunic an' whatnot. But me... I'm gonna go back someday. Build 'er up good again with my bare paws, if I 'ave ter. Too many memories in those timbers..." He tapped his pegleg. "Came from a cracked spar, this leg did. It belongs with th'rest o' th'wood. Wood, ye know... 'as a memory o' its own. Needs ter be with family."

The ferret stared, his mouth slowly hanging ajar.

"I think," he said, his voice choking a little, "I see... th'_Bluddrudder_!"

"Haha! Wot a card, our Cap'n is, isn't 'e?" Ryun sniggered, not bothering to look behind him at the star-specked ocean. The other corsairs and vermin, and even Birch, because she had to admit she liked the grog if only just a bit, all guffawed. Kirby glowered at them, then stood up to get the firelight out of his way.

"Kirby?" Skinny Ryun said, standing up and putting a paw on his shoulder.

"Aye?"

Ryun scanned the water for a moment or two before turning away with a snort.

"Yer a sentimental ol' git."

"But there's really a ship out there!"

Nobeast believed him, not until a longboat scrunched up on the shore.

* * * * * *

The last received message from Captain Venril via messenger robin was short, a mere statement of progress: _Have acquired new crew, as per orders. _Bluddrudder_ to proceed north as scheduled._

When a merchant ship's crew mentioned in the tavern one day that they had seen a wreck on the south-eastern coast, Captain Fergly had asked, out of sheer boredom, what the ship had been named. He'd spat out his grog. Proklyan was going to be _maaad_. Not to mention himself. He'd been waiting almost a full season for relief, or reinforcements, or whatever was being sent his way.

There was nothing going to change things now. Prince Nashald would just have to hold off on his own, because he, Fergly, had orders to come back home, and he wasn't going to stick around for some war he didn't even care about, oh no. He'd packed up his soldiers - what was left of them - and chartered the _grog_ out of that merchant ship the very same evening. Two weeks later he saw the wreck himself, and then not five days later, the lookout announced a fire on the shoreline. They'd slowed down to see. Fergly had grabbed the spyglass and eyed the rabble.

All it took was one green-tunic-wearing rat with Proklyan's insignia on his breast to send Captain Fergly into a rage. How _dare_ that sissy scum of a stoat Venril hightail it back along the coast! Ship or no ship, he should have gone on with the mission, if he had survived at all! Soldiers or no soldiers! Proklyan was going to be _maaad_.

He didn't stop to think about how long ago the wreck had first been sighted, or how far along the coast the fireside rabble was from their ship, or to check for any more soldiers, and he didn't give any of the merchant ship's crew time to think either. He rowed furiously ashore.

His meeting with "Captain" Kirby had been one of the most sobering experiences of his life, needless to say.

They hustled out a quick deal by morning.

Captain Fergly began to count the survivors one by one as they clambered up onto the ship, getting their names, which his clerk wrote down on parchment.

Revel eyed him. He wasn't as scrawny, but there was a certain aura of _Venril_ness about him. The aura increased as she came close enough to smell.

"Name?" he said, as Greenfang stepped out of the line in front of her and began scaling the rope ladder. The Captain stepped back a little and looked Revel up and down. She didn't bother, herself. She breathed in.

_Musty, like dead leaves. A bit of caterpillar doings. Vinegar an' feathers... soggy clay._

"Rivvil," Trpcic said, edging in. "I Trpcic."

"Ah... mmhm, Rivvil. Thought it was pronounced different. And she's the crazy mute one they call Crinktail, is she? Interesting." Fergly glanced back at Revel, his head tilted curiously. "And do you - "

She ignored him and bolted up the ladder, sending the rope slapping against the ship in her wake. She sat in the shade of the sails beside Trpcic as the rest were processed. From a coat pocket she drew out little Pinky, and held him under her nose.

Just a trick of memory, she decided. Some lost refrain.

"That male stoat smells like he's your mate," Trpcic chittered.

"N...no," Revel said, her voice cracking and hoarse. "Venril's dead."


	83. Everybody's Screaming for the Encore

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 83. Everybody's Screaming for the Encore...  
**_by Eliza_

_Apostol's northern forest was always dark, here. Even in the middle of the day. Things thinned out a bit further on, near the clifftops. The trees shrank back from the unstable rocks there, because there wasn't enough soil for them to establish durable roots. Here, though, the leaves and needles choked out the light. Eliza could barely see her paw in front of her face. She'd chosen this dell specifically for the darkness, and also for the remote location. Nobeast from Apostol came up here, unless they had to._

Pawsteps crunched through the leaves.

"Hello?" called out a feminine voice, descending to an amorous purr. "Are you there, Johnny?"

Eliza smiled. The note had worked, perfectly.

"Jonathan?" the voice called again, this time with a trace of annoyance.

Eliza stepped into the open. "Jonathan's not here, Parvati."

"Lacrimosa?" the ferret hissed. "Where is he?"

Eliza noted the ferret maid's attire with satisfaction. Lace, and not a lot of it. Harlot.

She adopted a tone of mild innocence. "He's at home, I expect. Or, possibly, he's out hunting for wild curlew. Clayten De Lorenzo and some fellows are going out to the north forest for them, and he told me that he was thinking of joining them."

"You wrote the note asking me to come up here, didn't you? You wretched little tramp!"

Eliza raised a mental eyebrow. Parvati had put two and two together remarkably fast given that she could never figure out which spoon to use for desserts.

"Yes, I did. I wanted to talk to you. Alone."

The ferret sniffed nastily. "About what?"

Eliza took a deep breath. "I want you to leave Jonathan alone."

Parvati gave a snort of derision. "Oh, really. Is that all? You dragged me all the way up to the northern forest to tell me that you want me to stop making eyes at the most eligible male in Apostol? This is a new level of pathetic, even for you."

"I'm being rather kind," Eliza said patiently. Kinder than a prissy wench like you deserves. "I could have let you wander around up here in that flimsy little nightdress until dusk, and then, as an added bonus, sent the Guard up here to fetch you back. I rather think Captain Heidik would enjoy watching you try to explain what you were doing tramping about the forest in your underclothes, hmm? Instead, I'm asking you politely. Leave him alone."

The ferret huffed, brushing some pine needles from her bodice. "What's it to you, anyway? Unless... Oh..." Parvati smiled wickedly. "Oh, I see it now. You're jealous."

"Don't be stupid."

"You're blushing. You fancy him yourself!" Parvati broke into high-pitched mocking laughter.

"Shut up!" Eliza snapped.

"Really, Eliza. Such uncouth language! Though I suppose that's to be expected, due to your, shall we say, 'humble' origins. But, really, my dear girl, you and Jonathan? He's a ferret. You're a pine marten. Do I really need to explain the intricacies to you?"

"You don't love him!" The words were out of her mouth before she could clamp it shut.

Parvati smirked and turned away, swishing her tail at Eliza. "I'll be going now. And, since you've been so kind, I'll do you the monumental favor of waiting to tell the other girls about this embarrassing little scene until tomorrow night's ball. Though I rather doubt you'll be attending, since Apostol seems to be fresh out of males desperate enough to court you."

Eliza leapt at her, claws bared.

With an outraged cry, the ferret struck Eliza between the ears. She clung on, wrestling Parvati to the ground. The harlot broke free, and ran... in the wrong direction. Towards the cliffs.

Eliza gave chase. The branches clawed at her neck as she ran, scratching against her throat like... like... paws.

Her eyes snapped open.

Something clawed at her neck again. Eliza shrieked, and struck out. Her paw connectedly solidly with something small and soft. It let out a sharp mewl.

Eliza sat bolt upright. One of Revel's kits writhed on the bunk, stubby little paws flailing.

_Hellgates._

Six days, she'd been forced to live with this indignity. After an impassioned discussion with Captain Urgly, Eliza had managed to procure a room in the hull for herself. However, she'd been forced to share it with Revel and her savage companion, which almost made the prospect of sleeping in a cramped hammock among the brigands a desirable option. Revel had plopped her little maggots into a sagging chest of drawers next to Eliza's bunk, and the little wretches had kept her up half the night, every night, with their squealing and scrabbling. And now one had crawled onto her _bed._ She frowned at it.

Eliza looked at the other bunks. Despite her shriek, the moronic stoats both appeared to still be sleeping. She gingerly picked up the squirming little monster. It mewled again, and tried to bite her. Eliza plunked it in with the other two, who were sniffing and tottering shakily about in the drawer. All three of them began mewling in chorus.

Revel began snuffling. Eliza elected to vacate the premises before the moronic stoat woke up.

She wearily made her way to the deck, recoiling as the harsh morning sun beamed into her eyes. The pine marten leaned casually against the rough wooden deck rail, looking about for any sign of land. The sun peered down from a wreath of whispy clouds, casting a golden sheen upon the shimmering sea. Some beasts, ignorant and stupid ones, probably, would have said it was beautiful.

"Wotcher lookin' at?"

Eliza turned from the deck. Some filthy little wharf dweller, probably one of Captain Urgly's minions, grinned at her.

She stared pointedly down her snout. "Go away."

"Wot?"

"I said, 'go away,' you greasy little snot-snouted..." Eliza paused. _Stoat? Weasel? Ferret?_ "...thing."

"Why?" The wretch inserted a grimy claw into his ear and twisted it. Something brown trickled out.

"Because I don't enjoy talking to snivelling little deckswabs, that's why."

"Sod you, then," the urchin grunted, and squelched off.

"Bit harsh on him there, lass."

In Eliza's peripheral vision, a rangy hare leaned casually against the rail.

Eliza sniffed. "He's a disgusting bit of wharf rubbish."

The hare nodded sagely. "Aye, most of these blighters are. But, I s'pose he was only jawin' at you because you looked so flippin' lonely."

Despite her better judgment, Eliza took the bait. "Do I, now?"

"Pardon me for sayin' so, but, yes. Starin' out at the bally sun, with a look on your gob like a forlorn frog who's lost his newt." He extended an oversized paw. "Quentin Quincey Quinton, at your service."

Eliza stared doubtfully at him, not returning the pawshake. "Quentin... Quincy Quinton?" _That has got to be the most ridiculous name I've ever heard._

"Quinc-ey Quinton. With an 'e,' doncha know. My old mater, y'see, had five leverets all in one go, one after the bally other, and just when they thought it was over, whoops, out came lil' ol' me. 'Look at that,' said the midwife – though not quite like that, on account of her bein' a bally mole – 'that one's right on cue.' Course, my mum was hard of hearin', and she thought they said 'Q.' Like the letter, y'see. So they named me all in Q's, and only found out the truth later."

Eliza blinked, slowly. _Oh Fates, he's a story-teller._

"Rest of the family's got the last name Rosenberger. Bally odd, that."

"How _nice_ for them," Eliza said, regaining her stride.

"And you'd be..." he said, leadingly.

"Not in the mood for a conversation."

The hare scratched his nose pensively. "Well, if not a conversation, surely you'd be keen on gettin' yourself some brekkers?"

_"Brekkers?"_ Eliza repeated incredulously.

"Yep," Quentin said, smiling. "Can't abide the thought of a lonely lass wastin' away to nothing."

"Really."

She couldn't have poured more sarcasm into the sentence with a _ladle_. Quentin didn't appear to notice and kept right on droning. "Aye, that's me lot in life. Noble, gallant hare, got to keep the perishin' beauties fed, wot?"

As if on cue, Eliza's stomach grumbled. "No, thank you," she said, cursing her traitorous innards.

The pine marten turned away, attempting to become fascinated by the wretched dawn. After an uncomfortable interval, she spoke without turning around. "You're still there, aren't you?"

Eliza could _hear_ the grin on Quentin's face. "Yep!"

She rounded on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Leave me alone, you buck-toothed lout!"

The grin didn't waver. "Come now, Button Mum. I'm only tryin' to be friendly."

"What?" Eliza spat. "'Button Mum?'"

Quentin's eyes twinkled merrily. "Oh, aye. 'Button Mum.' You wouldn't introduce your-bally-self, wot, so I thought Button Mum was a spiffin' title. Y'see, there's a flower called the button mum. Beautiful little thing, blooms a lovely shade of green, just like that dress you're wearing."

"Do _not_ call me Button Mum," Eliza said frostily.

"'Fraid I'll have to, marm, unless, of course, you were t'give me your real name..."

"You're an idiot."

"That's a silly name."

"Look, Bucky. I don't want to have breakfast with you. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to be friends with you. I don't even want to _look_ at you. So why don't you just hippity-hop along and find yourself somebeast else to annoy?"

"Right, well, I'll nip along, then, an' leave you to your winsome starin'. But 'twould be a horrible shame if you were to miss out on eatin'. Ol' flabferret's got t'gether with the cook for these Proklyan chappies, and they're cookin' up a storm."

Eliza watched him saunter off.

She waited, until it seemed that enough time had gone by that not even an idiot like Quentin would believe that she'd decided to follow him. Then she waited a bit longer, just to be on the safe side. Her stomach gurgled again as she picked her way across the deck.

A tantalizing aroma was wafting up from the galley. Eliza followed it into the aptly-named mess area, where an assortment of green-clad vermin were stuffing their faces.

Kirby bustled by with a soup cauldron, and began ladling into a weasel's bowl. "Right, messmates, we got gull eggs, cooked light'n'fluffy, an' we've got breakfast stew made outta last night's supper stew wi' some new bits added, an' biscuits without any weevils in."

Eliza managed to obtain a portion of eggs, and made her way to a relatively empty section of table. She scooped up a small yellowed bit, and to her surprise, they were very well done. She chewed slowly, savoring the taste.

Quentin's shadow loomed over her. "Mind if I sit down, wot?"

"I do, _actually_."

"Capital!" he said, depositing himself on the bench beside her. "I always say, it's a horrible shame for a lady to dine alone. Got to say, though, I'm surprised you didn't sit with that stoat friend of yours."

At another table, Revel was dunking one of her kits into the stew in an apparent attempt to get it to drink.

"She's _not_ my friend."

"Really? I would've thought, after all you lasses had been through you'd be thick as thieves, if you'll pardon the expression."

"She's thick as a _stump_. That's why we're not friends." _In fact,_ Eliza thought, as her mind conjured up an image of Venril, _I rather think that pine martens and stoats make for a wretched combination._

Some time after that, a green-clad searat clomped down the steps, proclaiming that the lookouts had spotted Crittenden off the port bow. Eliza grimaced, as relief and trepidation fought each other in her mind. _Crittenden, the scummy little port town where all of this madness started._

From Crittenden, she could catch another ship, which would take her back to Apostol.

It was time to go home.


	84. Epilogue: A Musical Interlude

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 84. Epilogue: A Musical Interlude with a Wayward Robin  
**_by Bellona, with Special thanks to Damask the Minstrel for his contributions to this post_

_"And I'm feelin' strong.  
I will sing this vic'try song. Woo, hoo, hoo!"_

Winter had begun to dust the northern reaches of the world with his cold white blanket when Bell stepped paw in what she could comfortably call a forest. The cloak about her small shoulders hung heavy, while her haversack grew lighter each day. She hoped she would encounter a holt of otters somewhere ahead -- they could provide both supplies and intel.

Her journey back through the desert had been a long one. Limited to travel at night, weighed down by a sickly body (and swollen snout), and wary of the creatures lurking along the banks of the Broad Stream, the dormouse's progress each 'day' remained sedate, at best. And when her rations had run low, she'd been forced to spend part of her precious hours of moonlight fishing and scouring the banks for edibles.

Praise the Fates, nobeast accompanied her. After all that had happened and all that had been lost, she needed some time to herself.

There had been the possibility of a vole joining her, but the young creature had opted to stay with Sagaru at the Oasis until she could carry a pack on her own. Bell suspected the vole would never leave that place. Not that such a fate was something to bemoan. Sagaru was a good leader -- wiser, perhaps, for the trials she had endured.

Bell spent four days traversing the banks of the Broad Stream beneath a skeleton canopy before she encountered another living creature. It was a rabbitmum about her washings.

The sensitive creature's head jerked up, ears swiveling, every few seconds, checking behind and to each side. The dormouse did not need a spy to tell her how Nashald's hostile takeover had proceeded in her absence.

Nevertheless, the rabbit explained how the Autumn of Long Suffering had progressed, giving way to the Winter of Treacherous Silence. After wiping out the majority of Martin's Shadow and two other significant resistance groups, Nashald, a wildcat of warmer climes, had withdrawn his soldiers and holed up in his favored castle to pass the season. But, not before ransacking and pillaging every woodlander settlement between the Eastern Sea and the Broad Stream.

The winter would be a hungry one.

Bell pressed on, meeting her hoped-for holt and procuring more thorough information on Nashald's troops in addition to supplies. She asked if any of the otters had heard tale of a robin minstrel named Damask. They sent her west, some eying her with new interest.

West. West. West. Whenever she asked, this was the direction the beasts sent her in pursuit of Damask the Minstrel. A few demanded to know if she was _the_ Leftenant Littlebrush and, uncertain of another creature by that name, Bell answered in the affirmative. When this happened, creatures would crowd around until she felt trapped as they peppered her with questions about the Oasis, Damask, the Fritterik and everything that she was trying so hard to forget.

Bell got clever -- she started lying to avoid the attention.

One day, as she inquired after Damask from an aging mouse with a hearing problem, he told her the robin had flown north.

-----

_"North! What's to the north?" Bell shouted into the horn the old creature held up to his ear._

"Eh?" he demanded and the dormouse repeated, dialing up her volume to a mental notch of eleven. "Oh. Well, Redwall's the only place I know of worth visiting that way, deary."

-----

So, she struck out toward the much-talked-of Redwall, the hood of her cloak drawn low to ward off the elements. A blizzard hit before she could finish her trek, though, and the warrior found herself sat with a rather chipper dormouse couple and their three sons in a hovel beneath an oak. The eldest of the Feathertail sons, Rhys, offered to guide her the rest of the way to Redwall after the storm abated some four days later. Bell gladly accepted his assistance.

They arrived after a three day trek, shoving their way through snow drifts that rose above their heads in places.

"It's not usually like this, Ms. Bell," Rhys explained in the clipped tones of western Mossflower as the Abbey came into view -- a rose-hued sentinel in an ocean of white. The pleasantly plump fellow bounded over a ditch concealed by snow and Bell matched his movement. "It should really only take a day to get to Redwall."

"Snow would slow anybeast down," Bell said, thoroughly fed up with the impediment to swift movement.

"Snow?" Rhys glanced back at her with a mischievous grin. "And here was I thinking it was a lovely lady turning my head with a shout to halt every other minute."

Bell did not have a reply for this preposterous remark... partly because it was true.

_Old habits die hard._

Even in the tenuous peace of these quiet lands, the warrior remained alert, cursing her companion for the racket he set up while walking. Still, there were other ways to respond to such things...

The warrior scooped up a pawful of snow when Rhys had returned his attention to the fore, packed it tightly and chucked it at the other dormouse's head. With an "Oi!" he spun around and glared at her.

"What was that for?"

"What?"

"You hit me." Rhys pointed an accusing claw at her.

"So?"

"Well, er..." The male considered her for a moment, brushing the snow from his neck. "Don't do that, or I'll get you!"

"You," Bell pointed at the fellow, raising an eyebrow, "get _me_?" she shifted the aim of her claw back at herself.

"'Spect so." He sniffed, crossing his arms.

_He's a bit thick._ The lady dormouse snorted in derision and trudged past, only to whirl a moment later when a snowball whistled past her right ear.

"Warning shot," Rhys called. "I don't hit creatures in the back unawares!"

"Your mistake," Bell observed, grabbing a mound of fresh powder.

-----

Half an hour later, breathless and shivering in their soaked clothes and fur, Bell and Rhys called up to the gatekeeper of Redwall Abbey asking entrance. The squirrel eyed them critically before descending and opening a small door built into the larger gate structure.

"You two're a right state," he said. "Better get you in a hot bath 'fore you freeze your tails off!"

"She hit me with a snowball," Rhys explained, jerking a claw at Bell as the squirrel led them through the gateway arch and toward a large building in the center of the Abbey's courtyard. She held her silence and masked her amusement with stoicism. "So, I hit her back. Er... things got a bit out of paw then and we wrestled in a rather large drift off the side of the road."

"I won," the warrior added, gaze roaming about, measuring up the creatures housed within the walls of this fabled place.

"I don't doubt it by the look of those scars on you." The squirrel chuckled, holding open a door for them. A blast of heat warmed Bell as she stepped through. A staircase spiraled upward at the far end of the Great Hall, in which a long table stood proudly at the center. Around this, woodlanders in white aprons flitted, setting out cutlery, bowls, and plates.

"Ah, I'd almost forgotten," the squirrel said, leading them toward the staircase. "You're in luck, friends. We have a very special guest lodged with us this week for the storm: a warrior bard with the most extraordinary stories to sing. We'll have the end of the Oasis tale tonight if I don't miss my guess."

Bell froze for a fraction of a second, only long enough for Rhys, a rather astute fellow, to notice.

"What's the matter?" he whispered as they ascended to the upper floor.

"Nothing," she muttered. Then, louder, "What was this bard's name?"

"Damask the Minstrel."

-----

"Normally," Fitch, the squirrel who had greeted them at the gates and, likewise, a guest at the Abbey, explained, "we have storytelling in Cavern Hole. S'cozy and dark and perfect for whiling away a winter's eve listening to a good yarn. Reminds me a bit of the seas and swapping stories with my mates. Blimey! It's been a time. Chase a girl off the ship and get holed up here for the ice. Hah!" He led the now-dry dormice down the second floor corridor toward the winding staircase. "Anyway, while you two were washing the snow out of your fur, Damask asked Abbess Hame for something more... _grand_."

As they trotted down the stairs and entered the Great Hall, Bell saw that a crowd had gathered while she and Rhys had bathed and dressed. Creatures of all sizes had taken up seats around a bonfire -- strange considering the large fireplace to one side that looked likely to house the impressive pyre. The long table from earlier, now dominated by three platters of fish roasted and marinated in a variety of sauces, had been pushed up against the wall opposite the hearth.

Then, above her head, a familiar voice rang out:

_Two giants faced th' other in the sand!  
A lizard 'gainst the ferret Wrath.  
It was the vile'st creature in the land  
Its teeth did cut a jagged path!_

A robin dove through the top of the flames, the air from his wings causing them to billow out in a spectacular fashion. The crowd shied back as an updraft of gasps sent the bird farther into the rafters.

_Ever the dramatic entrance, Damask,_ Bell's mind scoffed, even as her breath caught in her throat and she stared wide-eyed with the other woodlanders.

_And while the giant beasts did fight  
A herald for all that is good and right  
Did stand against the vermin might -_

What happened next shocked the dormouse so completely she took a step back, managing to find an opening in the otherwise packed Hall. The crowd must have heard the next line before in some kind of refrain for they called out as a whole: "Bellona!"

Damask, however, stopped short in his performance, and stared directly at her from his vantage point. The crowd fell silent, expecting more theatrics. The show they received, however, was unexpected.

"Bells!" The bird gave a joyous chirp and leapt from his perch in the rafters, diving into the dormouse with gusto. "You're really here! I mean, after all this -"

"Damask..." Bell tried to calm him as the robin wrapped his wings around her small frame.

"You actually found me. I mean, I tried to leave you a trail. I told everybeast I came across our story, and how you fought the vermin with Martin's -"

"Damask..." she tried again, shoving his feathers down.

"-ow. I mean, I hoped that someday you would find me. Well, that it would be you and not Captain Matahoochie, but really, to see you again like -"

"Damask!" Her shout drowned out his torrent of words, but it took a small smile, one of her most reserved gifts, to silence him. "I'm glad to see you, too. But, er... do you think you might've waited to call out my name?"

Both creatures took a moment to look round at their audience. Then, the Great Hall erupted in clapping paws and triumphant whoops.

-----

They managed to extract themselves from the madness of enthralled, questioning, and congratulatory Redwallers with some help from Rhys, Fitch, and the resident badgermum who shouted for silence and ushered them toward the Cellar for privacy. Damask promised the room at large to finish with his entertainment after dinner before following.

Once in the Cellar, Bell turned to Damask and again graced him with another genuine smile. Now that the shock of finding him in such rude health after their bittersweet parting had worn off she felt happy to see him, and annoyed, and angry, and relieved, and so many other emotions.

Several thoughts flitted through her mind in quick succession. _He left me because of that wench. He got out before the worst of it. He gave her that bracelet. He's alive and happy and safe. He doesn't know anything. Praise Fates he doesn't know anything... But he'll want to know._

"Oh, it really is wonderful to see you, Bells," Damask bubbled. "I was so scared for you when I left, but I had to go. And I was scared for... er..." He stopped, staring down at his claws for several seconds. "I'm sorry, but I have to know: what - what happened to Eliza? Is she safe? Is she... happy?"

Bell considered her abashed comrade for a moment and wondered just how deluded he had to be not to see Eliza for what she really was:

_The strumpet who would be hero._

"Damask," the dormouse said, glancing about, and then walking to and hopping up on a barrel to sit, "things changed after you left."

Then, she told him everything.

She told him about the plague and about the mushrooms. About Kelly and Adriak and the Srechrrl. About the quarry pit and murdering Matukhana and _enjoying_ it. About Eliza's plan and the final battle and the endless search through the damp and the dark and the desperation. About the last moments when she truly thought -- wished and hoped -- she was going to die... and about Eliza again. About how Eliza had stood, how Eliza had searched, how Eliza had saved them all.

"She did, Damask," Bell explained, hating every word. "That vermin wench had the strength to carry on. But me? I - I couldn't even _crawl_! I'm pathetic!" Tears formed unbidden at the corners of her eyes -- frustrated, self-loathing tears.

The robin moved to comfort her, but she growled at him, "No!" and pulled away, rubbing furiously at her eyes and blinking hard.

"No," the warrior repeated more evenly, and then continued with her dispassionate narrative. Besides the slip with Eliza, she was able to detach the emotion from the memories. They were just facts -- she was relaying a report to her comrade.

When she had finished, she shifted her gaze from the wall just above a stack of empty kegs to Damask. The minstrel had been silent throughout her tale and he remained quiet now.

After the silence had stretched to an uncomfortable length, he said, "Will _you_ be all right, Bells?"

_Not 'are you', but 'will you be'._ There had only been one other creature who knew enough to ask it that way. She couldn't help a smile tugging at her whiskers.

"Yes, Damask," she decided, thinking of her journey and Rhys' help and her reunion and all that she could do with the influence of a place like Redwall behind her. Salamandastron, the otter holts, and squirrel and shrew tribes of Mossflower, and Camp Tussock would send their best warriors when the Abbess of Redwall asked it, and Damask had her ear.

"You know," Bell slipped down and stepped forward to rest a paw on the minstrel's wing, "I think I really will be."


	85. Epilogue: Day's End

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "RedVenture V" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 85. Epilogue: Day's End  
**_by Revel, with poetry by Damask the Minstrel_

Sullen stood up slowly, paws spread out for balance. Her nose darted every direction at once before she dropped back down.

The woods were growing darker with every minute. Silence, like the light, was fading - at least, the perception of silence was. The peaceful streamside no longer burbled with gleeful attraction, but a growl of attrition. The wind grew wild across the grasses, turning the rustle of berry bushes, once alive and welcoming, into a sombre death rattle.

A twig snapped - too close by. Little Rath squeaked, earning him hushes from his siblings.

All three of the little stoats huddled together in the shadow of a clump of reeds. Another crack sounded from across the stream. A drop of rain fell, then another, and another. It began to drizzle.

Pinky keened, his tiny stomach gurgling. Sullen bopped him on the head, but her stomach soon started up as well. They had not eaten since early afternoon.

The sky's dark blue gave way to black. Storm clouds prowled overhead, hiding the stars and moon. The stoats relaxed slightly as the last of the shadows disappeared. No shadows meant nothing to _make_ shadows, which meant... nothing to scare them.

"Worrif it's _all_ shadow?" Sullen whispered, as if reading their collective thoughts. They held their breaths. Seconds went by, marked by only the creak of trees above them. Something splished in the stream, and Pinky bolted from cover.

The reeds above them parted suddenly, and a growl, a real growl, chewed through the dark. A paw swiped down, bowling the remaining kits in all directions.

Sullen rolled into the stream, then bounced back out, claws scrabbling at the wet clay. She dove under a patch of twigs and leaves. Little Rath hung low against the ground, white teeth bared, and hissed in the opposite direction of their assailant.

Pinky had skid to a stop not far away, his paws clamped over his face, whimpering. He found himself being lifted, felt the stink of breath against his neck, and wet himself as he was thrown into the stream. He sputtered, limbs flailing, until Sullen darted out and grabbed his tail, hauling him back under cover.

Rath spat and hissed, whirling in circles, but never saw what grabbed him. He screamed as a rough paw lightly batted his head, and then -

He was pressed tightly against warm, soft fur. Revel patted him down and licked his ears until he calmed down, then dropped him into the stream as well. He crawled out, shivering and twitchy.

Revel plumped her rear down in the soft clay and hiccuped.

"Right. What went wrong?"

"Pinky musked," Sullen said, poking her head out from under her shelter. She stuck her tongue out at her brother.

"Did not," came the quivering voice from the hole behind her. "Was Rath."

"You _bofe_ musked," Rath retorted. He folded his arms. "I din't."

"You _all_ musked," Revel said. "An' then you couldn't smell nothin'. You 'old it in 'til they're right on you, then you musk up their nose. That's 'ow it's done. You should've been able t'smell me comin' a mile away."

"Pinky panicked."

"'s too daaaark!" Pinky slunk out of the hole and cowered beside his mother.

Revel grabbed the miscreant Pinky by the nape and plopped him onto her stomach. She stared him down the nose.

"What's too dark?"

"Everythin'!"

"Then close your eyes!"

Pinky did so. "'s darker," he noted.

"What colour's th'sky?" Revel asked.

"Black."

"Wrong. It's pink an' yellow. It's mornin'. _Don't open your eyes!_ Th'flowers are goin' to unfold an' th'owls are goin' to sleep. Hear that? What's that noise?"

"'s a badger growlin'..."

"No. It's th'stream. An' what's in th'stream?"

"Fish?"

"An' fish are?"

"Food!"

"Are you scared o' food? Well, are you? You gonna sit there an' squeak because _food_ splashed in a bit o' water?"

"N-no!"

"Good."

They fell silent, cuddling up against their mother's flanks as she dozed on the stream bank in the dark. They shut their eyes and listened, and suddenly it _was_ morning, and the sky was pink and yellow, and the hungry badger was just a place where fish swam.

Sullen creaked open an eye. No. It was still night.

"Worrif it's a _real_ badger?" she whispered.

"Oh, shurrap, Sully."

* * * * * *

And this was their home:

The great oak sat crooked on the side of the hill, weakened and pushed down by countless seasons of wind and rain and erosion. The acorns fell on the other side of the hill, opposite the roots. The entrance was kept clean, wide and open, framed by the roots, some of which jutted into the air like the spires of a crown. Somebeast had rolled boulders to create a safer, narrower doorway, hiding the entrance from any eyes not purposefully prying. Two holes dotted the hill, and on clear days smoke could be seen pouring out of one of them, and beady little eyes and pink little noses peeking out the other.

Mice had once moved in. Revel had moved them out.

The roof was a tangle of tiny roots, the floor dusky and dry. Beetles occasionally crumbled out of the walls, but apart from that they were sturdy and soft. Rain rolled off the grass above, keeping the inside dry.

There were three chambers: a large main chamber with two soft rugs and a cushioned chair in the corner, facing the window. A large tin washtub occupied the other corner, and baskets of cotton and a shelf of trinkets lined one wall.

There was a kitchen, with a small, solid table and stoneware oven which was just big enough for woodpigeon. A cupboard had been expertly installed, and was filled with simple clay dining sets, enough for three.

And then there was the nesting chamber, with a plain feather-mattress tucked neatly into an alcove, and blankets and cushions spread around on the carpet in the middle of the floor. The room tended to smell strangely from all the bodies clumped in it night after night - something like the smell after rain.

After but two nights there, Trpcic noted that the smell of mouse had gone, and wept without tears because this, surely, was her sister's cave. It was Revel's birth cave, and Yikker-chip's death cave, and now it would be their life cave, and be filled with the chittering of young creatures for many seasons to come.

Every morning Revel would go out and sit in the shade of the bent oaken trunk, watch the leaves drift across the hillside, and wonder at them. She wondered at _everything_.

How could this place be so perfect, so fitting for her family's needs? There was the forest, the wind and rain, the hole under the roots, the sun in the midland fields. A stream ran by, small enough to be safe, large enough to feed and water them. Beyond it were farmlands, the cornfields she had played in as a kit.

Revel never really thought about what was right or wrong. Things happened. That was all there really was to it. But it didn't seem right to her, that such a place could exist. Nobeast should have somewhere like this to pander to their every minute desire. That was how beasts like Adriak and Kelly came about...

She wondered if she could ever leave and go roaming as she had in her younger seasons. But once out there, roaming ended, and journeys began. Journeys always had an end, a goal in mind. And, for her, the goal would always be this place. She had never realized it until she found it again. That pang in her gut was no bad cricket, no squirming infants waiting to breathe; it was a hunger for something more than food, and the hurt when it was not fed was more painful than anything. She had never realized the pain was there until it had gone.

How lucky she was, to have found this place in her lifetime...

* * * * * *

The drizzle grew stronger, rousing the damp stoats and sending them homeward. Pinky and Rath slipped into the stream, bouncing in and out after one another, backs arched and limbs stiff. Revel carried the sleeping Sullen and trudged on beside the water until her path shifted into the woods.

The hill snuck up on them in the dark. Squeaking happily, the kits rushed between the rocks into the safe earthy glow.

Trpcic was asleep, curled up on the floor in the kitchen, her back to the fire. Revel lay Sullen down in Trpcic's arms, and the older stoat snored as she hugged the kit tight. Pinky and Rath shook off before falling over between Trpcic and the fire.

Revel sat in the chair in the main chamber, watching what sliver of storm she could glimpse through the entrance. Lightning would flash now and again, leaving an after-image of tree-claws haunting the dark. There was no thunder; the heart of the storm was far away yet. Revel closed her eyes.

Her sleep was interrupted by a warm, dry-furred Rath nuzzling her stomach.

"Oi. Enough o' that."

"'m 'ungry," he said, dribbling a bit down his chin.

"Go t'sleep. Wait for mornin'."

"Can' sleep, badgers will eat me."

"If Sullen's been - " Revel was interrupted by an earth-shaking roar. The entire room was lit for a brief second, so bright was the lightning.

"Wicky-chivvers!" Rath squeaked, his tail bushing. Revel nodded. How ever had she slept through this?

"Aye. 's not badgers," she added. "Just thunder."

"Funder's scary. Scarier'n badgers an' dark." He buried her nose into her neck, crying.

"Shh, shh. You're th'whirlwind, Rath. Fiercer'n any storm! Wind, thunder, rain - your hiss, your growls, your, your... spit flecks! Roar back! Raaarr!"

"Raar!"

"Louder! Scare th'storm away!"

"RAAAAR!" The little stoat clawed fiercely at the air, and then belched.

Revel sat up and took him into the bedroom, where she lay down and held him until he fell asleep.

There was no more thunder after that.

* * * * * *

Revel could not remember a storm being any worse than the one that had passed three days ago. The once-green forest was bare, all the leaves blown clear out of the woods. The rivers and streams had flooded, throwing mud up that now covered acres of grass and bush. The weather was grey and cold and damp, the sky a seamless white void. The only colour left in the world was the dull light brown of stripped tree bark.

Revel picked her way carefully among the ruins. There were huge patches of sky in the thickest parts of the woods, and the ground was littered with broken branches and trunks. She even saw one tree split in half with scorch-marks all around it. Not that any fire would have been able to last in that mad hurricane.

The stench of a rotting corpse drew her into a small grove. A large aspen tree had fallen here, but was held up by the branches of two smaller trees. There was a hole in the trunk, big enough for a large bird to live in. The smell came from directly beneath. It was an owl.

It must have died in the storm, for the amount it had already rotted. Revel ignored it; she could find other food for herself and her kits. She did not need to stoop to carrion.

She clambered up the broken tree and edged up the trunk. The hole was at an angle to the ground, and she clung on, nearly upside-down, to peer inside at the owl's nest. There was room inside, so she swung herself in with ease.

There were no eggs, but there were four chicks. They did not smell, but they were not alive; starved, she guessed, for their mother was dead. Revel untied the haversack from her belt and began to fill it with the chicks. Such ironic justice! She couldn't help but giggle at the owl's misfortune. That these little ones would die to feed her own young - the very birds of prey that had taken Trpcic's tail tip last winter!

Getting out proved a problem. There was no easy way to latch onto the roof of the hole and swing back up onto the trunk, and the height was too great to fall. But she _could_ swing over and grab onto one of the smaller tree's branches...

Revel let the sack of owl chicks fall, and seeing it land safely, clenched her teeth and made the leap. The branch was only a few tail-lengths away, and she clung on fiercely with all four paws, upside-down at first, until she could scramble topside.

Her weight on the branch caused it to crack. She ran along towards the trunk and swung down to the next one. From there, it was simple to scootch down to the ground and retrieve the haversack.

At least, it should have been simple.

The larger tree groaned; the smaller trees cracked and shuddered under its weight. The delicate balance in the tangled mess of branches had sustained for three bleak days, but Revel's shuffling presence was upsetting it. The stoat made it to the ground safely, but she was not the only one. The smaller trees gave way, letting the bigger one down to the ground at last.

It took Revel several minutes before she screamed.

First, she had to come to. Nothing hurt, as far as she could make out. She was not trapped by the branches or the trunk. But when she tried to move, something stopped her - everything worked fine, limbs and paws moved flawlessly, but no progress was made out of the wreckage.

Her tail, for a second time, had been pinned soundly. A squirrel helped her out in the end, but the damage was irrevocable; her once lovely tail, her pride and joy, was bent for good.

The new crink began near the base, and along with the old crink at the tip, made her tail form a useless, numbed 'Z'.

* * * * * *

The seasons went on...

The home grew, filling with furniture and knick-knacks stolen from passers-by. Little Rath became Big Rath, and Pinky - though he still smelled a bit like caterpillar doings - became Bigger Pinky, until both were larger than Revel. Sullen grew as well, upward and outward.

"He 'ugged you, didn't he," Revel said, her tone dead-pan, her paws akimbo. Sullen dug her footpaw into the dirt.

"Just once..."

"Fibbers are villains, Sully!"

"F-four... or f-f-five."

"I told you t'keep away from those stoats!" Revel sighed and turned back to chopping vegetables for stew. "No good bush-rustlin', tail-tweakin', nose-rubbin', gambollin'..."

"Kerty's a fine young stoat an' I love 'im!"

"Hmph!" was all Revel had to say about this. She knew love, yes...

And before she knew it, Rath had moved out one winter day, taking his haversack of necessities and a mug of Revel's own juniper grog. Without so much as a "see you later", he was gone. Revel saw him sometimes, out in the woods, hunting with his mate - some pudding-headed floozy of a stoat jill who could barely string two words together without sticking her paw up her nose between them. More often than not she ended up scaring their prey away before Rath could get his bow aimed right. But she had a very nice tail, and Revel supposed he could have done worse.

He could have found a pine marten.

Sullen moved out in the early days of spring. There was a nice big hollowed log her mate Kerty had found. Revel and Trpcic would come by with food now and again, to check up on her progress.

When the kits came, however, Kerty appeared in their kitchen during dinner, holding his bedroll and asking if he could hole up in Rath's old bed for a few nights. Pinky, who was used to rolling all over the bedding and did not want to give up that freedom, told him he could sleep under the old oak on top of the hill. Revel had to agree. Kerty smelled funny and she didn't particularly want to be accidentally hugged in the middle of the night, either.

"Thought up names yet?" Revel asked, when she came to visit a week later. Sullen lay sprawled out in the far end of the log, humming to her kits. There were eight of them.

Sullen rattled them off: "Fritterpaw, Wetpaw, Blacktail, Twitchnose, Lopfang, Badgerkiller, Wobbles an' Burpy. She burps a lot," she added.

"So does Pinky, still."

"They're _all_ pink," Sullen pouted. "Where's Trpcic?"

"She's stayin' in th'kitchen. Hasn't moved out for a while. I brought you somethin'..." Revel passed the spotted headscarf over. "I don't remember where I got it from, but 's what I wore when I 'ad kits. 's good for cleanin' up spit-pies when they yorf. But don't forget t'clean it."

"I won't."

It wasn't until Pinky decided that enough was enough and left to go adventuring with a gang of his own that Revel found the old coat tangled in the folds of his bedding. She washed it in the stream and spread it out on a sun-baked rock to dry. That night, by the fire, she sewed a few more pockets into it.

She left the coat hanging on the branch above the doorway of Sullen's log and went home. She felt the crinkle of soon-to-be-summer grass underpaw, and wondered where Zhipzi was. It was the first time she thought of the weasel since leaving Crittenden.

Where had Zhipzi gone to? Hadn't they been kithood friends, cavorting in the cornfields? Zhipzi was the one who'd taught her how to steal baked treats from the mole runs to the west, wasn't she? Whatever had happened to nice old Zhipzi, who had sewn dresses and caught fish in her mouth?

Revel resolved to ask Trpcic if she knew, but the old stoat was not easily roused from her corner of the kitchen.

Revel made soup, and fed Trpcic spoonful by spoonful, until it simply dripped back out onto the floor. Then she sat against the wall and held Trpcic close, letting the old stoat's head rest against her shoulder, then her lap, until the daylight dwindled and left Revel's breath alone in the darkened room.

* * * * * *

"Kerty, is Sullen still 'ome?"

"Aye."

Revel hefted the haversack up to a more comfortable position over her shoulder. "I want you t'look after my 'ome for me. Don't let anybeast move in. No one. An' don't you or Sullen go in there, either. Not 'til winter. If you see Rath or Pinky, tell 'em they're not t'go in, too."

"H'come?"

"Because I said."

Kerty nodded furiously. As a new father, Revel's tone was all too familiar with him. He offered a salute; his father had been a soldier, and it seemed the right thing to do.

"You goin' somewhere, Crinky?"

"Aye. Somewhere."

"You comin' back?"

"Maybe."

"G'bye..."

Revel waved a lazy paw at him and turned away. Her stiff tail wobbled behind her as she scarpered over a ridge and vanished into the woods where the trees grew thickest.

* * * * * *

The village was small, in the sense that it didn't cover much ground. Everything else about it was large, although not as large as Crittenden. The buildings were built with thick walls and were scrunched together to form tidy streets. Shops lined the main thoroughfare; the more homely dwellings were built along the edges of the village, their windows and doors facing the fields. Whatever ground wasn't a building was being used to grow something, crops or flowers or grass to lay on.

Revel could only watch from a distance. It was a woodlander town - only woodlanders were weak enough to need to group together for sustenance - and she and the other vermin were told to wait in the field outside of it. Cooking fires sprouted up, and she found herself helping a pair of weasels with their woodpigeon spit.

"Th'problem with roastin'," Revel said as she worked the crank, "is that it gets all dry if'n you don't know what you're doin'. A bit o' grog or berry juice'll keep it soft an' chewy an' give it a bit extra flavour..."

"We could use a good cook like ye," the male said. He aimed a kick at his mate. "Juppa's horrid wid food."

"Am not, mange-face," the female shot back, biting the footpaw and spitting at the taste. "Any'ow, I was thinkin' of sneakin' into one o' them woodlander places an' filchin' some herbs an' spices to put on. But I ain't sure what t'look fer. Ye wanna try yer paw at it, Crinktail?"

Revel glanced over at the town and shrugged. The worst she'd get was kicked out... again. The woodlanders seemed to have some sort of deal going with the vermin at the moment. Later that night there was going to be a show, put on by the vermin in exchange for some food. The performers had set up a lean-to over by the forest edge, where they practiced quietly until then.

"I can try," she offered at last. "At least some salt an' pepper, I figger. Don't let it get dry, now."

Juppa took over at the crank and Revel headed off towards the village. It began to rain steadily, and the dirt underpaw squelched and got between her claws. The rain also sent all the woodlanders inside, so sneaking to grab some spices was simply out of the question. It did have the added bonus of nobeast wanting to come out to haul her off their streets. She ignored the sporadic shouts from darkened windows and peered at the buildings with vague interest. Rain poured off her snout and dripped from her tail.

One building had a wide open front and an inviting red glow bathed the street beyond. Clanging and chattering could be heard from within. Revel stopped just outside and watched as a squirrel calmly hammered at a shield.

"So I says to Maple, I says... I'll finish this later." There was a clang as she put aside the shield and leaned forward towards her guest, a plump female mouse. "I says, 'That as may be, but he's not _my_ type of squirrel!' I mean, he had this booger practically hanging off his chin while he was asking my weight."

"Oh, he did not," said the mouse, nodding.

"S'truth, I swear it!" the squirrel proclaimed. "A great, big, ugly yellow slug just wobbling there, all..." She glanced up at Revel. She frowned a moment, waving her hammer threateningly.

"You vermin are supposed to be keeping out!" she called. "If you don't scram I'll chop your tail off! That's right! Your ugly little... crinked..."

Revel bared her teeth and growled low. The squirrel took two steps and then shut the door with a ferocious slam. Revel could hear heavy panting from inside, and the mouse's voice soothingly: "Birch, Birch, what is it? What's wrong? Who was that stoat? Is she the one that..."

Revel moved on as the squirrel's panicked voice reached hysterical heights. The rain let up an hour later. It didn't matter that her mission was unsuccessful; Juppa and her mate had eaten the woodpigeon before they'd let the rain ruin it, and laughed in the squeaky, nasally way that weasels laugh when Revel asked them if they had saved any for her.

"Yaggh, well I 'ope your mange curls th'fur off your back, you wicky, miserable, frog-eyed worms! Chivvers!" Revel snapped, cutting off the male's chortles. His face fell and he scratched at his shoulder before turning around and sulking. Juppa just laughed harder at this.

Things dried out nicely after that, but the damage had been done. The vermin who had to tend to their cooking fires were splashed up to the waist in mud. The ones who had fled to the forest were not much better off, for a fight had broken out amongst them and everybeast not decked out with nettles and leaves had even more mud splashed across their faces. The entire lot of them sat miserably, none of them saying much of anything, until dusk.

All at once, the field burst into activity; otters and squirrels came out from the town to shoo the vermin off the grassy side of the field. Some hedgehogs lay down planks of wood for a stage and planted four torches at each corner. More and more woodlanders poured out of their homes carrying rocking chairs, benches and tables, and began setting themselves up for a dinner feast. One thoughtful family of mice rolled out an old round table onto the vermin's side of the field and left it, and a ferret and a fox began squabbling over who got to use it for what.

Revel set her haversack down and sat on it. A one-pawed rat squatted next to her, snivelling from a cold.

"Oh, dis is gonna be good," he whispered to her. "He's been talkin' about it for days, doin' dis. Followed that robin around fer seasons, he did, learnin' all da songs an' stories."

Revel turned her attention to the makeshift stage, where a sly-looking stoat stood, coughing into his paw. Silence fell over the field, and he held his arms out.

"Welcome, welcome, one an' all! Now, I know ye fine beasties are probably hopin' fer another recountin' of _Braggin' an' Sorrow_, pah! Well, I got somethin' new fer ye this lovely eve! Aye, straight from the tales of the Master Minstrel 'isself, the robin Damask, whom I studied with for many a perilous season!" The stoat paused for applause. A fat weasel threw a half-eaten fish-head at the stage.

"Gerron wivvit, you spoony bard!"

The stoat thumped his footpaws against the stage, starting a beat for the first song. He began to sing, such a sweet, lilting tenor that Revel found her eyelids fluttering. She sighed and rested her chin in her paws. If she had had any kits inside her stomach, they would have fallen asleep instantly upon hearing this voice.

She woke briefly, here and there, to listen to the songs. There was some story going on, but it was far over her head, the language too complicated and the melodies shuffling all meaning out of the simpler words.

Trying extra-hard to concentrate, Revel picked up one part that had her clapping along enthusiastically:

_A robin chased a jill one day  
Not knowin' what he gonna catch  
For she did turn 'right 'round and say,  
"You really think we are a match?"_

He hemmed an' hawed for quite a bit  
And then he near did throw a fit.  
And when he saw her lick her chops  
Away from her he took a hop

She dove at him, the hungry pine  
Her claws stuck out near-like an inch  
She cried, "You, bird, are gon' be mine!  
I'm gonna cook you up for lunch!"

So silly birds, heed what I say  
Or else in Pine's belly you'll lay.

She fell asleep again after that.

* * * * * *

Revel was awoken by shouts and whoops of pain. All around her was chaos, the vermin scrambling to collect their belongings and book it into the forest. Woodlanders were throwing food and silverware at them, the braver ones getting right into the midst of things and shoving.

She grabbed her haversack and followed the crowd away from the village. It was a while before any of them slowed down, plunking themselves along the shore of a stream to rest.

The fat weasel who had thrown the fishhead grumbled, a little fox echoing his sentiments. Juppa and her mate sat against a tree, nursing bruised noses - although the prize for the biggest bruised snout went to a male ferret. The poor beast looked like he had a plum glued to his face.

Revel paid them no heed; she scanned the survivors for the stoat who had been singing.

She found him sitting by himself, dabbling his footpaws in the water. She sat down next to him.

"_I_ liked your songs," she said quietly.

"Oh, sure. Everybeast liked 'em," he replied. "It was the comedy routine at the end that did the trick." He sighed and picked a fork out of his shoulder. "That's gonna leave a scar..."

Revel hesitated, then touched it gently. He winced.

"It doesn't look very deep," she said critically. "Fur'll grow over in time."

"Didn't mean that," he said. "I meant the whole... ah, stove it. Ye know? Ain't one vermin in that whole lot gonna take me seriously no more. They look up t'that fat oaf more'n they do me."

Revel sniffed curiously at the stoat. Despite his dejection, there was something proud about him. Maybe it was the slight whiff of caterpillar doings, or the subtle aura of vinegar and feathers...

She hugged him. He looked like he really needed it.

"I'll look up t'you, if you'd like."

"I... I would," he said, surprised. He didn't know where to put his arms, and so let them hang by his sides until she let go.

"I like 'ow you smell."

"Oh."

"Um... what's your name?"

"Flinky," he said.

"They call me Crinktail."


End file.
